


A Continued Series of Short Stories On Madame Vastra And Jenny Flint

by FriendsCallMeTonks



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-05
Updated: 2013-12-15
Packaged: 2017-12-28 13:02:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 70
Words: 76,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/992295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FriendsCallMeTonks/pseuds/FriendsCallMeTonks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of (many) shorts that surround and flesh out my previous fic about Madame Vastra and Jenny Flint. Each story is based on a one word prompt from a challenge I received back when I used to draw. Originally meant to be one hundred, but I'm posting what I have so far. Enjoy!</p><p>PS Will warn at start of each chapter if Mature content is present, most of the stories are Teen-and-Up quality.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Beginnings

**001\. Beginnings**

 

1884

 

            Vastra could not take another minute in her little room. Not that she minded the lack of space or solitude, no. In fact she would have preferred that. But the ape that the Doctor had charged with “taking care of”— _An ape spy, no doubt,_ she thinks, cursing the Doctor that saved her life—was always coming in, disturbing her thoughts and forcing her to eat. Enough of that! A walk, she had decided, was what she needed.

            Now that she was out walking, Vastra is regretting that decision. The ape city is loud, even in the late evening hours. It reeks of the vermin, their waste, their disease. Worse yet… Vastra is not entirely certain how she got to where she finds herself now. _Ridiculous_. Vastra and her sisters have a magnificent sense of direction. All of these right corners and cobble stones and cold haze cannot undo that.

            She’s beginning to curse herself. It was a foolish idea to go out into the streets of this stinking ape city, and it was a foolish idea to step into the Doctor’s ship. Vastra should have stayed with her sisters and died honorably. Why cling to life when this life is so unbearable? Why continue her intolerably long life, forced to live in the company of wild animals?

            Fear.

            Vastra stops, her scales humming. The scent is fresh and unmistakable. _Keep walking_ , she tells herself, but she cannot. Something about the scent is wrong.

            She pivots at the sound of a high-pitched scream. It’s short, but the scent is confirmed: The fear of an ape-offspring, one of the little ones. Curiosity, not concern, carries her into the night.

            The scent is simple enough to follow, despite the stink of the gutters. One by one, three new scents surround the little one’s, all of which are decidedly ape and decidedly unafraid. Before long, she sees them.

            How very little it is, thrashing against the adult apes holding her mouth and arms and neck. Are they disciplining it? In their uncivilized ape manner. No one from the apartments on either side of the way is looking out to see what is causing such an obnoxious commotion.

            “Oi! Who’s that there?”

            Their harsh movement ceases. All eyes turn in Vastra’s direction, yet not one ape actually looks at her. _Well then_ , she ponders, _that is interesting_. When she was young, before the great sleep, she had enjoyed hunting apes with her friends. Back then, they could see in the dark. Perhaps their brains had grown over millions of years, but they seemed to have lost the ability to see in the dark. They certainly couldn’t smell her.

            “I said, who’s there?” the ape is shouting now. The little ape still yanks for freedom, but the others will not move. _They do not wish to be seen_ , Vastra thinks. _They are doing something unacceptable to their species, yet it is something others have come to see as unpreventable._

            “Smith, go check it out.”

            “There’s nothing there, mate,” another ape responds. Oh how you do wish.

            “I saw something! I know I did. Now go look or I’ll cut your tongue.”

            “I’m going, I’m going! Don’t got to be nasty.” The ape called Smith lets go of the small ape’s left arm, which immediately rebells against the other two adults. The one called Mate hits its shoulder.

            Vastra watches ape-Smith approach her slowly in the dark. She waits, enjoying the scent of its growing fear. At the last possible moment, she lays her strong hand across his mouth, pulls its skull towards her, and snaps her tongue into his neck, tasting his blood as she delivers a fatal dose of venom. She drops him, dead before he hits the street.

            “Smith?”

            “It is dead, Ape.” Vastra steps over the corpse and into the light. At first she hopes to hear screams, as they should be afraid of her. Then she realizes that their seeing is so poor, they cannot see under the hood of her cloak. What hopeless creatures, how did they ever learn to make a building at all?

            “Who the Hell are you?” Ape-Mate shouts.

            Vastra sees no reason to answer a pitiful ape’s inquiries. She steps closer.

            “Oi, you, take care of her!”

            The third ape makes a sound, but it isn’t English. It isn’t any language, ape or otherwise, as far as Vastra can tell. As this one let’s go of the little one, freeing its mouth for all sorts of howling, the one called You slowly approaches. Clever Ape-Mate, sending its soldiers in first. Disgraceful, but clever.

            The speechless ape stops, thinking it is out of her reach. How foolish. She grabs his face by the jaw, and it screams. She pauses, however. Within its mouth, there is no tongue. Rather, there is the stump of a tongue, but the part the apes use for tasting and speaking is missing. She holds it on its knees, clearly terrified and in pain.

            Vastra looks up at Mate. Without a moment’s hesitation, she whips her tongue out and dispenses her venom into its neck. It lets go of the little one and slumps against the wall behind it. She looks down at the ape in her clutch. It stares up at her, eyes round as the Moon, fear spilling out of every pore. “You… Run!” It obeys. Vastra watches it, amused, when she realizes the little ape is still just standing there.

            “Why are you still here, little ape?”

            “Ma’am, I- I- I thank you, ma’am. I ain’t nothing but a match girl, nobody ought to care about me.”

            “Thank me…?” Vastra looks it over. Its hide is darker than most of the apes she has encountered thus far, which is surprising. Vastra did not know they could come in multiple colors.

            “You saved me, ma’am. Thank you,” the ape says again.

            “Foolish hatchling, don’t you know I could easily do to you what I just did to those males?”

            A look of fear and quick calculation crosses the ape’s face, deciding whether to run. “Will you?”

            Vastra takes a step closer to the creature in its torn dress and odd hat. “I would consider it.”

            “No,” the little ape squeaks. “No, ma’am. You wouldn’t save me just to kill me?”

            Vastra is taken aback. “Do you have a name, ape?”

            “ ‘Course I do, ma’am.”

            “Well what is it?”

            “Harriet, ma’am. Harriet Tubman Jones.”

            “Well Harriet Tubman Jones, I suggest you learn not to trust a stranger, no matter how benevolent they appear.”

            A look of marvel crosses the ape’s face; Vastra thinks perhaps she has walked close enough now that it’s brown eyes can see her properly.

            “Ma’am, your face—!”

            “Yes, little vermin, run.”

            Harriet Tubman Jones does just that, jumping over its fallen captors. But it shouts back over its shoulder, “Thank you, Green Lady!”

            Thank you. Vastra did not know apes were capable of gratitude. Fear, rage, lust, certainly. Gratitude seems like one of those emotions left to civilized, sentient creatures. An idea is beginning to form in Vastra’s mind, watching the little scamp run away, and a tiny little sense of purpose bubbles in her chest.


	2. Middles

**002\. Middles**

 

Between Mid-1886 and Mid-1888

 

1\. 1886

            Vastra feels eyes upon her. She stops, but does not look around her in the dark. Instead she concentrates on the scents around her: the warm, sooty air; the auras of apes that walked this way earlier in the day; the butcher shop half a mile away; horse stools; and…

            She turns, her eyes piercing through the dark at him.

            “Doctor.”

            Called by name, the Time Lord steps forward, a block away. Into the light, Vastra realizes, but of course she can see into the dark whereas he cannot.

            “Madame Vastra.”

            With a sniff, she lowers her hood. “What brings you here, old friend?”

            The Doctor approaches, his hair sticking up at odd angles. Vastra is oddly reminded of the ridges gracing her own skull.

            “I just thought I’d check in, see how you and Ms. Flint are doing.”

            “You thought you would check in on me, Doctor,” Vastra corrects, “Because, as you know, Paternoster Row is more than a mile away yet.”

            That earns Vastra a smirk and a nod. “Fancied a walk, eh?”

            “I am working, Doctor—”

            “Yes, as the Great Detective.”

            “—and Jenny needed a night off her observations.”

            At this point, the pair stand only about two meters apart. “Wait, Jenny does what?”

            Vastra considers him. “During the winter months, Doctor. Jenny has taken up training under my guidance in the swordsmanship of my tribe. She has yet to advance to carrying a blade, but she has been accompanying me on some of my cases to observe and learn application of the techniques.”

            “So why didn’t you mention this before? When Jenny was sick and you called me here?”

            “Remember, Doctor, I did not call you deliberately,” Vastra says. “As for your question, I do believe there were other matters to attend to, namely Jenny’s illness.”

            The Doctor watches Vastra for a moment. “So she joins you on your… night walks. That’s how she decides who you get to—”

            “Doctor, what is your point? Why are you here? You seem to clearly disapprove of something I’ve done now.”

            “I… wouldn’t say disapprove,” the Doctor replies. He steps closer, looking between his shoes and Vastra’s face. “I just want to check in.”

            “You think I am endangering the human.”

            “And you don’t?”

            A tense silence comes between them. Finally, Vastra hisses, “Doctor, what has happened?” For a moment, he is silent, so she asks again. “Doctor, you do not seem yourself, so tell me.”

            “I…” he starts, and looks away, searching for words. “When I was here last time—”

            “Earlier this year.”

            “Really, 1886 again? Huh. Anyway, I had just… See, I travel a lot, through time and space, and just after I met you the first time, I had this companion who traveled with me. And she… Well I lost her. She’s fine, but yeah. So when I visited earlier, it was just before I met this other human, Martha Jones. Oh and she was brilliant, you would have liked her. Very clever and… Loyal. Which I suppose I didn’t… That is, I didn’t…” He sighs. “Anyway, she left.”

            Vastra listens carefully. Her friend does not mention the first human’s name, which means he does not want to discuss her, most probably because he “lost” her. This latter human, he seems to feel guilty over something he has put her through, something he cannot even begin to describe. Perhaps she was loyal and true and… then, perhaps he was not?

            “Doctor,” Vastra says. “You are what you are. Just as I am what I am. What we are… only time can change.”

            “No,” he says, interrupting. “Not time. Friends.”

            Vastra hums a little. “Indeed.” _That explains it_. “Do not fear, Doctor,” she says. “I will take care of Jenny.”

            He nods. “Because you’re a good friend.”

            Vastra says nothing. They begin to walk together, and she pulls her hood back up.

            “I don’t suppose you would care to go for a spin in the Tardis? Jenny, too, if she wants, just for a bit.”

            Vastra laughs before he can say more. He smiles. Little by little, he tells Vastra the stories of Rose Tyler and Martha Jones, how he came into the middle of their lives and then messed up everything.

 

2\. 1887

            Jenny hikes up and down the London streets on a brisk autumn day. After a week of rain early in the season (during which her employer insisted she stay indoors because she is “an ape with a weak immune system”), Jenny made sure that today would spent out of doors as much as possible. In the morning, she tended to the outside of her mistress’s abode, and presently she is returning from a meandering stroll through the city, ostensibly to “do errands.” Now that blood pumps joyously through her legs and air comes rushing in to clean out her lungs, Jenny can return home without feeling quite as cooped up.

            As she reaches Paternoster Row, Jenny can hear laughter coming from an open window at Number 13. However, she does not recognize the voice. For a moment, she hesitates. _I didn’t know Madame Vastra would be having company,_ she thinks. For some reason, this unknown presence rankles her.

            Just as she reaches for the door, it opens. Vastra and a man stand there, laughing cheerily. But this man is unlike any she has ever seen, and that is not meant to be complimentary. He’s rather gangly. His suit seems a bit too tight to her modern tastes. And his shoes are—well, they certainly don’t match the suit—white, odd things, while his hair sticks up like the head of a broom. And he’s stuffing a small mahogany box into his jacket.

            “Jenny!” he exclaims. Before she can react, he’s scooped her into a warm embrace. Rather disgruntled by his forward behavior, Jenny wriggles out.

            “Who are you, sir, to act like we know each other so well?” Jenny barks, glaring at him while casting sidelong glances at Vastra. _What she must think of me!_ she thinks, her upbringing surfacing. _Her guest touching the maid like that!_ Even more frustrating is that this bold fellow is standing in the middle, in between Vastra and herself. Why this is frustrating, Jenny doesn’t know, and she doesn’t bother to examine the feeling.

            “Oh!” he says. “Oh, Jenny, I’m so sorry, I forgot.”

            “Jenny,” Vastra says, chuckling a little, “This is the Doctor. You remember the Doctor?”         

            “What?” _What._ “No he isn’t. The Doctor was older, and from the north, and—“

            “Lots of planets have a north.”

            Jenny’s jaw drops. The Doctor grins and looks over his shoulder at Vastra, thoroughly enjoying his species. Jenny is still glaring at him. “But— But he…”

            “I am afraid,” Vastra says, “the fault in this misunderstanding lies with me. Doctor, it was very nice to see you again, but I do understand you must depart. Jenny, I will explain.”

            The Doctor doesn’t say anything; He just smiles down at Jenny and jumps off the steps, giddy with knowing he’s confused yet another human being.

            “But he—“

            “Come, Jenny.”

            The young woman obeys. As she follows Vastra into the house, she rips off her bonnet. “What is going on here? Is this some kind of joke?”

            “No, Jenny,” Vastra says, although she is smiling rather too much for Jenny’s liking. “You remember that I told you that the Doctor came when you were ill? Last spring?”

            “Last year, yeah. But you didn’t exactly say it was _that_ Doctor!”

            “Didn’t I?”

            “No!”

            “Oh dear. I am sorry. Well, he did. And he has visited me once between then and now. Today he was showing off, telling of some recent adventures.” _At least,_ she thinks, _it ended that way. Poor man, alone again…_ “But allow me to explain how this all happened.”

 

3\. 1888

            It is a rather bizarre moment. Vastra and Jenny run full tilt after their quarry. Really, who robs anything right in front of them this early in the evening? They had not even reached the site of their case’s investigation yet. However, as they reach a cross street, something brown crashes into them.

            “What the Hell?” Jenny thunders from underneath the three collapsed bodies.

            “Sorry! I’m sorry!”

            “Doctor?” Vastra hisses, getting off of the other two. Next the Doctor stands up, apologizing to Jenny profusely. They all stare, panting water vapor into the new year.

            “Hi.”

            Jenny and Vastra share a bewildered look. “Hi,” they say in unison.

            “What are you lot up to? What year is it?”

            “1888. Barely,” Jenny pants.

            “We are tracking a thief, and an… uh…” Vastra adds.

            “Ah,” the Doctor says. He swallows, still panting. “I’m chasing a…” He points down the cross street. “…well, it’s a… And I’m running from the… Know what? Don’t worry about it, eh?”

            The women nod.

            “Yeah,” Jenny says.

            With a little bob of his head, the Doctor announces, “Allons-y!”

            With that, they all return to their running. Vastra wonders, though, recognizing a scent of both loneliness and trepidation on her old friend, what fate he is avoiding now.


	3. Endings

**003\. Endings**

 

Autumn 1891

 

            Jenny sighs. Across the drawing room, Vastra glances up from her reading. “Are you all right, my dear?” she asks.

            “Mmm, yes,” answers Jenny, sitting up straighter. She runs her fingers over the spine of the book in her lap. “I finished it.”

            “Your book?”

            “Yes, Strax,” Jenny answers to the reader closest to the door.

            “May I destroy it now that you have no use of it?”

            “Absolutely not,” Jenny replies, opening it yet again to the final page. “How’d you like it if I burned up whatever you’re reading right now? … What are you reading, Strax?”

            “ _Outhouses and Their Repair_.”

            Jenny chortles at the title and cannot make her mouth form an answer to Strax’s confused entreaties for explanation.

            Vastra watches the pair briefly. “What book have you finished, my dear?”

            Taking a few breaths to calm herself down, Jenny turns to Vastra. “ _Jane Eyre_ , ma’am. By the late Charlotte Brontë.” She looks down at the last page again, gently running her fingers over the paper.

            “Read to me the ending,” Vastra gently requests.

            Jenny turns back a page, choosing where to begin. “Let’s see,” she says, her fingers tracing the sentences. “I’ll read just this last bit. It’s not about the main characters, but here it is: ‘… _his glorious sun hastens to its setting. The last letter I received from him drew from my eyes human tears, and yet filled my heart with divine joy: he anticipated his sure reward, his incorruptible crown. I know that a stranger’s hand will write to me next, to say that the good and faithful servant has been called at length into the joy of his Lord. And why weep for this? No fear of death will darken St. John’s last hour: his mind will be unclouded, his heart will be undaunted, his hope will be sure, his faith steadfast_ …’ ” She smiles down at the page yet again, although the smile appears strange to Vastra.

            “Jenny, are you sad?”

            “Sad? I… suppose so, ma’am. It is sad to finish a good story, to have traveled with new companions and find yourself at the end of all you can accomplish with them… But it is good to travel with them all the same.”

            Vastra considers this; Jenny is not so very often poetic, making a comparison between a story and a journey as she has done now. It seems to her that her dear Jenny has just read of a character’s death. Having not read this particular novel, she wonders how this St. John’s passing might be affecting Jenny. She suddenly feels the urge to glare at the book in Jenny’s lap, irritated that such uncomfortable thoughts as those associated with death might be swimming through her companion’s heart.

            “And what are you reading, ma’am?” asks Jenny, catching Vastra’s gaze.

            “Oh…” Vastra closes her book to look at the cover again, as though she has forgotten. “Ah… Miss Anna Sewell’s _Black Beauty_.”

            Jenny raises her eyebrows at her mistress, turning her head to the side.

            “Hush.”

            “I said nothing.”

            “Very good. I am almost finished with her book and I would like to continue reading without further interruptions.”

            Jenny smiles, turning to gaze at the fire. She steals a glance at Vastra, however, once she has returned to reading Sewell’s book. Of course, Jenny has heard of the very successful _Black Beauty_. It was her understanding that the book, when first published now over ten years ago, inspired a vast movement for the improved treatment of horses (and people) in England. Perhaps they should make Strax read it at some point. But why it holds Vastra’s interest, she cannot tell, though. Nonetheless, Jenny waits.

            In a short time, Vastra closes her book and lays it aside on the nearby end table.

            “So?” Jenny asks, scooting forward on her chair. “What did you think?”

            “I am still thinking,” Vastra says dismissively.

            “Well how’s it end?”

            “Now Jenny, I cannot spoil the whole book for you should you choose to read it yourself in the future.”

            “Please,” Jenny says. “The only book in this room that will spoil is the Strax has got.” Over by the door, Strax looks up from his reading, having heard his name but entirely engrossed in his reading such that he’s not sure what is happening around him. Jenny stifles a laugh. “Nevermind it, Strax, I’m sure it’s a very interesting book.”

            “Indeed!” he says, and he means it.

            Finally Vastra announces, “Very well, Jenny. Here is the ending.” She takes up the book again. “It is Black Beauty who narrates.”

            “What, the horse?”

            “Yes.”

            “That’s his name?”

            “Black Beauty, yes. Are you wanting to know the ending or not?” Jenny, all smiles, motions that she means to say no more. With a humph, Vastra returns her gaze to the foreign shapes on the page. “Now then… ‘ _My troubles are all over, and I am at home; and often before I am quite awake, I fancy I am still in the orchard at Birtwick, standing with my old friends under the apple-trees_.’ That is the last sentence.”

            “Only one sentence? But I don’t learn anything from that.”

            “On the contrary, you learn that it is a happy ending.”

            “I don’t know that. He could be dead, speaking from beyond the grave.”

            “Dead horses do not need to wake up. Besides, should I read anymore, it certainly will spoil a fine book.” They sit in silence a moment, both looking at the green and gold clothe wrapping around the cover of the book in Vastra’s lap. Jenny stands.

            “I think it’s time we are all to bed.”

            “But it just got interesting!” Strax protests.

            “You can read more in your room. But only one hour, then sleep.”

            “But Jenny!”

            The maid says nothing, just points at the door with that unimpressed look she has. Grumbling, Strax hops out of his chair and marches out. Vastra, however, remains seated. She waits as Jenny makes her way around the lower floor of their home, seeing to it that everything is put away properly, all fires out until morning, the doors locked. Finally, Vastra stands and walks to the bottom of the stairs, just in time to meet Jenny there. Wrapping an arm around one of Jenny’s, the wives climb the stairs together.

            “Why did you chose to read _Black Beauty_ , Vastra?” Her eyes consider Vastra with some playful suspicion.

            “My dear, you could never pry such information from my mouth,” Vastra replies, gently pushing a loose lock of Jenny’s black hair behind her ear with her own spare hand.

            Jenny makes an amused sound. As she opens the bedroom door for her wife, Jenny hits her with quite the most deliciously dangerous stare to which Vastra has ever been subject. “I could pry any information from your mouth if I so choose… Ma’am.”


	4. Insides/Outsides

**004\. Insides/Outsides**

 

1889

 

            Jenny, wearing nothing but the blouse from her combat uniform pants, flops down to the mattress, utterly spent. Vastra crawls from where she lays to Jenny’s side, lying across her bed at an awkward angle. She wraps an arm and leg around Jenny, lies her head on the mammal’s chest, relishing the heat rising off her strong body. Still panting, Jenny smiles and wraps an arm around her lover’s shoulder.

            “Thank you, my dear.”

            “Mm.” Jenny kisses Vastra, her heart beat beginning to slow down. Then, as she has come to expect, a wave of surprise washes over Jenny. Vastra’s body never fails to impress her, but perhaps even more than that, Jenny never fails to surprise herself.

            “What are you thinking about, my dear?” Vastra asks, placing a kiss on Jenny’s blouse, pressing down to her sternum.

            “How are we attracted to each other?” Jenny asks before she can stop herself. Realizing she has actually spoken aloud, her fearful eyes dart down to Vastra, who is considering her with curiosity.

            “Are you wondering about the biology? Or about the probability?”

            “Um,” Jenny stutters. “I’m not sure, actually.”

            “So why are you thinking it?”

            “I think about lots of things I’m not sure about.”

            “Is that so?”

            Jenny swallows. _Do I dare tell her how much I worry?_ she thinks. Because Jenny cannot help but notice how much time her mind dawdles on their secret affair. Mainly the secrecy of it. “I suppose it is a bit… unlikely.”

            “Yes.”

            “Ma’am,” Jenny starts, pushing herself (and therefore, her lover) up into a seated position. “How do you do this?”

            “Do what, Jenny?”

            “Live… with such secrets.”

            Vastra tilts her head again, reminding Jenny of the first night they met. “Are you implying that my secrets are difficult to live with? Or in some way tarnishing?”

            “No.” Jenny is very sure of that. “No, what I… It’s just, how do you keep something a secret that you don’t want to keep secret?”

            For a moment, Vastra watches Jenny, puzzling out what she means. “I keep secret my identity as it has been suggested I might otherwise become a side-show attraction among your species. Although I am heir to a great deal more…” Now Vastra treads carefully. “…advanced education systems, I am not foolish enough to think I can fight off all of your kind. Besides, it is far more rewarding to feel as though I am doing some service to the society of apes than simply hating it out of spite.”

            “Hm… But you are proud of who you are, what you are.”

            “Yes, of course.”

            “So how… do you do it, ma’am?”

            “Death is a fairly motivating thing, my dear,” Vastra teases. Much to her surprise, Jenny’s eyes well up with moisture and the poor thing looks away. “I… Jenny, I am sorry?”

            “Oh it’s not you, ma’am,” Jenny replies. She does not cry, although she remains very close to it. Still unable to look directly at Vastra, she takes hold of her scaled hands. “It’s true though… I suppose if I was found out in all seriousness… we would be both be in such trouble.”

            Vastra is beginning to suspect that Jenny is on a different page from herself.

            “Of course, it’s not uncommon these days for women to have close friends. Even encouraged to, at least women of good social standing. Look at that Dickenson poet you like so much. It’s just…,” Jenny says, looking upward now, and both her beauty and her pained expression strike Vastra as though she has been punched in the diaphragm. “It’s just… Why should it have to be secret?

            “I mean… I… Inside 13 Paternoster Row, I am so… happy.” Some of Vastra’s tension releases and she is able to breathe again. “I feel happy here, with you,” Jenny says quietly, caressing Vastra’s hands with her fingertips. “And I feel happy with our work, and my own work, and with training. Even Strax.” Jenny chuckles and Vastra smiles. She reaches out, strokes Jenny’s cheek. Jenny leans into her hand, a little sound of pleasure rising from her throat. “But when I’m outside 13 Paternoster Row, when I’m out being ‘just Jenny Flint,’ I suppose… I feel so afraid.”

            “Afraid?” Vastra asks. Surely not. Not her Jenny, full of fire and ferociousness and passion. “Of what?”

            “Of being found out. Of _not_ being found out. Of being a liar. Of what society might think… Of myself.”

            “Yourself.” The image of two Jenny’s sparring each other leaps to Vastra’s mind’s eye, and she must chase the thought away before she becomes too entranced by such a diversion.

            “…I’m two people. I’m the Jenny Flint that everyone else sees, the maid, and I’m Jenny Flint, the me that runs around with a sword and wearing pants and…ah, sharing a bed with whoever pleases me.” By the end of Jenny’s small explanation, she speaks so quietly that had Vastra been human, her voice would have been inaudible. “Why can’t I be that always? Why do _we_ have to be secret?”

            Vastra pulls Jenny into an embrace, touched but unable to think of a suitable response. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Closeting sucks, folks


	5. Hours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mature stuff implied but nothing explicit

**005\. Hours**

 

Fall 1888

 

            Sleep.

            Jenny Flint vaguely realizes through the fog of her mind that something next to her is moving. She lifts her neck to look behind her at the bed. _Mmmm_ , she thinks, _Vastra_ … But she can’t keep her head up to look at the fuzzy green shape, so she slumps back into the pillows, grateful for sleep.

 

            Every once in a while over the course of the morning, Jenny’s consciousness comes close enough to the surface that she can almost sense where she is. Morning light through windows tells her that she is not sleeping in her own bed, which catches the afternoon sun. Something comes in, sits on the bed, and gently strokes her hair, so whoever it is must have been up long enough to leave the room in the first place. At one point, she knows she can hear birds chirping outside, and she knows for some indescribable reason that she did not dream last night. No, she felt completely safe…

 

            When she does awaken, it’s with a start. Jenny sits up abruptly, clinging to the sheets around her. The thought that she is not wearing anything as she dozes is what causes her mind to disperse the fog. Now semi-vertical, her immediate reaction is to look for a clock. There, across the room...

            “Mid-day!” she exclaims, horrified. There is so much she needs to do four hours ago! No, seven hours ago! Her mistress’s meals, the windows, the fireplaces—! Then it dawns on Jenny. Here in this room, the curtains are drawn, a fire is only just sputtering out in the fireplace, and if in terms of meals, if Vastra had not—

            “Oh…” Jenny says, looking down with bulging eyes. She is not in her own room. She is not clothed at all. She is lying on Madame Vastra’s bed, covered in Vastra’s sheets. Memories of the previous night flood through Jenny’s whole body. “Oh my word… What have I done?”

            Her body quivers with pleasure as a reminder.

            “Oh dear. Oh dear. Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear. Jenny, what have you done?” she says again, looking about the room as though she expects some sort of answer from the furniture. Finding insufficient explanation there, she leans back against the headboard and blows her hair out of her face.

            She knows exactly what she’s done.

            Fornication. Copulation. Sex.

Yes, she has… explored herself a bit in the past—knowing full well that _that_ was _not_ something she was _supposed_ to be doing, even on her own, because after all she did go to primary school for a while where teachers were very clear about expectations and she knew full well to escape any attempt by another to wrest away control of her own body because the scandal and damnation associated with _that_ was not to be tolerated and by some miracle she has made it to the age of one-and-twenty without any major incidents—but even if she has explored herself, that was not sex and last night most definitely _was_ sex.

            And with that thought, another memory courses through her body with such strength that Jenny clings to the bed sheets. In her mind’s eye, she sees again Vastra’s beautiful face, full of need. Blue eyes so close to her own that the air vibrates. Those eyes watching Jenny from below. The shock that ran through her body as a rough tongue licked her between the legs. The magnificent quake that wrecked havoc through her as firm, beaded lips pulled on her breast. Hearing Vastra’s voice, calling to Jenny, saying she loved _her_ —a human—as they climaxed together…

            Nothing in all of Jenny’s life has ever prepared her for last night.

            Nothing in all of Jenny’s life has ever made her feel the way she did last night.

            “Jenny,” she whispers to herself, “What have you done?” Still uncertain, Jenny turns and sits at the edge of the bed, still holding the sheets in front of her. After some deliberation, she stands up. Keeping the sheets close to her at this point will just result in a very poorly made bed later, so although Jenny wants to keep something over her bare flesh, she lets them go. Walking gingerly to the foot of the bed brings her sparring uniform—slightly torn—within sight. Jenny bends down and grabs the clothes quickly, as if suspicious that the floor might try to steal them. Now that they’re in her hand, however, Jenny just stands there in the middle of the room. At least now she can breathe.

            She can’t put these clothes on. They’re torn. If Jenny tries to put on anything, she risks doing worse damage. The only thing that isn’t torn is the cravat, an-d somehow that does not seem like it is going to accomplish what she would be hoping for in finding clothing. Seeing no other solution, Jenny nervously approaches the door to the hallway. She opens it as slowly and as quietly as she can, her brown eyes peeking out to look for any sign of… well… No sign of anyone in sight, she darts across the hall to her own room, hugging the uniform’s pieces to the front of her body. Once safely sequestered, she drops the clothes and sits on her little bed with a heavy sigh.

            _Get dressed_. But she doesn’t. Jenny sits on the bed, listening to her own breathing and staring at her palms. She lightly traces circles on her skin.

            Eventually, Jenny stands up, turning toward her chest of clothing options. She pulls something out, along with some fresh undergarments. Then it hits her: _Perhaps I should wash first._ So she grabs her nightgown and throws that on, bringing her dress and things to the small washroom nearest her bedroom. She draws a bath and sits in the tub, washing her long, black hair for a good deal longer than is actually necessary. She fluctuates between hyper awareness of her body and complete inattention. She finds little rough patches on herself, like oddly placed rug burns on her sensitive skin.

Finally, the snarl from her empty stomach motivates her. Jenny gets out, towels off, and starts attempting to make herself presentable. She’s about to put her hair up, watching herself in the mirror, when she remembers. “I told Vastra I love her last night.” Jenny reels. She drops her hair from atop her head, hands seeking the support of the nearby wall.

            _I did_ , she thinks. _Oh my goodness, it’s true!_ Somehow, at some point prior to last night, Jenny had realized how she felt—no, feels—about Vastra, although she had never thought of proper words for her feelings of tenderness towards her mistress. And this was not the kind of tenderness she felt for members of her family, not even the tenderness she felt for Vastra only a year or more ago as good friends. _That is the answer_ , she thinks, recognizing why she had been going mad for months, why she had first kissed Vastra on that summer’s eve, why she… well…

            Jenny looks back at herself in the mirror. She looks shocked. _Well that won’t do_ , she thinks, but the look remains as she fixes her hair in place. Briefly, she looks down at her hands, then back at the mirror.

            “I love her.”

            _And Vastra,_ she thinks, a little drop of happiness rippling through her heart, _loves me._

            A smile tugs at the corners of her mouth. As Jenny leaves the washroom and goes downstairs to fix something to eat (really, she is very hungry now) the happiness spreading warm through her fights for control. Jenny fixes herself toast and eggs, and as she sits at the kitchen table eating (much too late in the day for a first meal), gazing out of the nearest window at the beauty of autumn, that smile begins to win out against what forces first laid control of her at the moment she awoke. _She loves me!_ Jenny thinks again, swallowing the last bite. For a little while, she just sits, basking in her own delight. It is confused and frightening delight, certainly, but brilliant and lovely and peaceful, too.

            Snapping back to the present, Jenny steps out into the hall to look at the large clock. While she knows Vastra must be out given her absence from Number 13 Paternoster Row for the last several hours, Jenny smiles up at the time. Wherever she is, Vastra will be returning soon for tea. The maid returns to the kitchen to fix some.


	6. Days

**006\. Days**

 

Early Spring 1885

 

            There aren’t really that many windows in the new apartment. Compared to the Lady’s last apartment, yes, it is many times more (even Jenny knows that), but there certainly not as many to wash as there might be in some big, fancy houses.

            “You spend a great deal of time on that activity,” Madame Vastra comments without looking up.

            Jenny looks over her shoulder. “Well, I just enjoy washing windows so very much, ma’am.”

            “Indeed,” Vastra replies, returning to her breakfast.

            Jenny just shakes her head, smiling to herself. _Just that last upper corner on this one,_ she thinks, returning to the worst torture developed by mankind. She reaches up, soapy rag in hand. _Ugh_. Still she can’t reach; Jenny stands up on her toes and places her spare hand on one of the Lady’s piles of books to balance.

            There’s a loud yelp and several thudding sounds, distracting Vastra from her paper. She looks up, and then around. _The maid was there not a second before_ , she thinks, tilting her head and tasting the air in curiosity. Just as suddenly, Jenny’s voice is heard from behind the table at which Vastra sits, presumably down by the floor.

            “Bloody, confounded, damnable, hellish, fuc—…!”

            Vastra does not recognize many of the words the young lady uses as she stands up again, books falling off of her. However, she suspects they are meant to express displeasure. She stands and moves tentatively closer.

            “Whoa,” Jenny says, seeing Vastra approach from the corner of her eye. “Don’t move like that, ma’am, please. I’m not in the mood.”

            “Move like that what?” Vastra asks, standing upright. She tastes the air again.

            Jenny holds her tongue. Somehow after all these months she has managed to keep from mentioning how _creepy_ it is when Vastra moves like… well, whatever she is. _Lousy lizard_ , Jenny thinks. She rubs her side and head and pain throbs through her.

            “Fantastic! Well, this is a fine mess,” Jenny says finally, looking over the spilled water and books. “Dammit!”

            Vastra watches as Jenny bends down to start cleaning. “I do not understand,” she says, “How can a mess be fine?”

            “What, ma’am?”

            “You just said that ‘This is a fine mess.’ It is my understanding that this is clearly a ‘mess,’ but as ‘fine’ tends to indicate something satisfactory, I do not see how it can be used as a descriptor in this situation.”

            Jenny pauses: Firstly, because while her mistress does communicate with her more often nowadays, it is usually to ask about the less savory sections of London. Listening to Jenny read aloud in the afternoons does not count. Secondly, this is perhaps the most cohesive sentence she has ever heard come out of Vastra’s mouth. Thirdly, _What the Hell is she confused about?_

            “Ma’am,” Jenny begins, “I was being sarcastic.” She looks up at Vastra, raising her eyebrows, expecting her mistress to understand. But she just flicks her tongue and tilts her head and shifts her weight like—well, like whatever she is. “You know,” Jenny continues. “When you say something, but you really mean the exact opposite.”

            “A lie.”

            “No, ma’am. Uh… You say something with a certain tone of voice, see? And your voice sort of… lets people know that you don’t mean what you’re saying. It’s um… ironic?” Jenny says, still expecting some kind of reaction of recognition from Vastra.

            Nothing.

            Dear God, she doesn’t know what sarcasm is. And hasn’t this entire time.

            “I do not understand.”

            “Here, like… ‘Oh, I am _so_ pleased that my sister is ill,’ like that,” Jenny says.

            “Why would you be happy about that?”

            “No, ma’am! I’m not, I mean I wouldn’t be, she’s not ill. But if she were and I said that, the voice I used, it let’s people know that I don’t mean it. That I really mean I am _dis_ pleased for my sister.”

            Vastra’s mouth twitches, clearly thinking very quickly.

            Jenny stands up. “Here, you try,” she says to her mistress. “Think of something you think or feel, and then say the exact opposite.”

            There is a pause. Then Vastra takes a deep breath and says, “I think apes smell delightful.”

            Jenny’s expectant hope turns into an unimpressed glare. Vastra thinks she has seen this look on her face before, and if memory serves it is usually in reaction to something… well, ape-ish.

            “Gee, thanks a lot.”

            “Did I do it correctly?”

            “Actually, no,” Jenny says. “The voice was wrong, ma’am. You said it like… in passing. You have to use the voice, or else it just sounds like you’re lying.”

            Vastra frowns, thinks. Jenny sighs, and returns to cleaning. For the rest of the evening, she can hear Vastra muttering to herself, “I think apes smell delightful… I think apes smell delightful…”

 

            Several days pass. Vastra believes she has finally acquired the “voice” of sarcasm. One night, as she prowls the city streets, it dawns on her that the maid seemed rather irritable much of the day. While Jenny has already explained “cycles” to her mistress, Vastra is quite certain there was no smell of blood on the young ape today, so the cause of her unhappiness and discomfort must be something else…

            Jenny, curled up on her pallet by the little window in her room, wakes. The door to her room has burst open, slamming into the wall.

            “Ma’am?” she groans.

            “Yes, it is me.”

            “What’s wrong?”

            “You said… The other day, you said you enjoy washing windows.”

            “Yeah…?” Jenny asks. _If I just stay with my head under the blanket, maybe she’ll go away._ “And…?”

            “You… You were being sarcastic, weren’t you?”

            “Yes,” Jenny says, finally poking her eyes out at the moonlit silhouette of her mistress. Now that she can see Vastra and she’s adjusting to the light, Jenny considers her. The creature does not speak; she just glares at some invisible point in the floor, stock still except for that creepy, long tongue flicking out and in.

            “What is it, ma’am?”

            “I believe,” Vastra says, still unmoving, “That I might have made an error.”

            Jenny thinks. Then—“You!”

            “I thought you genuinely enjoyed washing the windows, so I encouraged the accumulation of… mess.”

            “What’d you do?” Jenny asks, sitting up to face her tormentor. “Throw dirt at them all last night?”

            “I apologize.” With that, Vastra slams the door behind her as she leaves. Jenny lies back down. However after her initial outrage, she finds herself giggling. Mostly because her mistress has proven yet again to be peculiarly entertaining, but also because her mistress thought enough to _try_ to be kind to Jenny.

Oddly enough, for the rest of the time Vastra and her maid live in that apartment, Jenny never finds the windows to be in need of cleaning again.


	7. Weeks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pretty short

**007\. Weeks**

 

1890

 

            During the weeks between Vastra’s proposal that Jenny and she wed and the actual day of the wedding, they are all but oblivious to Strax’s presence at Number 13 Paternoster Row. Not yet involved in their work as detectives, Strax the Butler does not much enjoy this period of his stay with the human and the lizard. The women ones (he believes they are women ones, but honestly genders and pronouns are utterly beyond him) are constantly sneaking about together. Or separately, as Strax seems to be constantly interrupting one or the other’s planning or shopping or something. The irregularity of it all, how little they keep to the schedule to which he had finally become accustomed after a year and a half in their company, absolutely infuriates him. Strax does not know from one day to the next when he will have time to catalogue his weaponry and nursing supplies, when he will be helping to keep up the house, when he will be doing anything, really.

            Whoever invented this bizarre thing called “wedding” is surely trying to assassinate the mistresses of this house, he decides. What other explanation could there be for their behavior? Unfortunately for Strax, the behavior of both Miss Jenny Flint and Madame Vastra will never quite return to what he perceives as “normal” ever again.


	8. Months

**008\. Months**

 

Latter Half Of 1885

 

            The first letter arrives in early autumn, perhaps late summer depending on your level of optimism. Jenny reads it again and again, the whole way through, even though her eyes gravitate toward a tiny little paragraph in the midst of Vastra’s instructions.

 

_…I believe you have heard my making mention of my sisters. As I write this letter to you, I am reminded that only a short time separates my being from encountering the first anniversary of their deaths. While in fact I lost sisters and brothers on that day, I particularly feel the loss of the twenty-seven sisters I was stationed with to protect our tribe. My sisters’ names were thus: Moura, Yass, Tzorac, Resk, Nii, Tiridnion, Web, Vestir, Howrlin, Vestik, Tzarii, Rasken, Twil, Nourrac, Flaya, Qenn, Bet, Zoric, Vitora, Kenayhena, Ribstrac, Qualiya, Moora (she was Moura’s elder, or parent as apes speak), Nettebi, Astar, Matsrid, and Hyssina. And, of course, there was me…_

           

In all honesty, Jenny is just as amazed that she can actually read Madame Vastra’s letter as she is amazed that her mistress bothered to send her a little with such precious, impossibly important information. Before and after this brief section of relatability, Jenny cannot find anything to indicate her mistress’s welfare or location, however. Eventually, after having kept the letter on her person for three days so she can easily reread it, Jenny folds up the paper and places it safely within her bedroom. It is a letter to her, after all. By then, she has memorized the names, even if she does not know how she would say them aloud. In moments of boredom, Jenny imagines what each name might have looked like on a face.

 

            Autumn falls upon London with a great deal of decisiveness. Every two or three weeks, Jenny receives a new letter. Weeks turn to months, the Earth turns, and Jenny has a carefully kept collection of long letters. Her mistress seems to tell Jenny a little more about her past in each one. In late autumn, one letter attracts Jenny’s special attention. It’s not that the other letters are less interesting, it is merely that this one describes something in the far more recent past than the others.

 

_I have survived the anniversary of the deaths of my most beloved Silurian tribesisters. Apes were absolutely intolerable to behold that day. It strikes me that perhaps this would be difficult for you to comprehend since I have not taken pains to explain what exactly happened a year ago. As you have gathered from my company and the explications of the Doctor that night not so long ago, my species, being very advanced and sensing a great oncoming danger to our survival, went into what you might understand to be sleep, a sleep that holds for millions of years. And I assure you, this planet is so old and older still. We were supposed to wake much earlier of course, which would have prevented the apes from ever rising and taking control of the planet as you now have. But I digress._

_A glass tube, for lack of simpler terms, enforced the sleep. However, the technology was designed so that should there be some kind of problem, I would wake first, followed by my warrior sisters, followed then by our entire tribe further below, followed eventually by a more dominant tribe allied to our own. To put it simply, that night, I woke up. At first, I believed the systems were faulty. I thought, first of all, that it could not possibly have kept us in stasis—sleep—for as long as it proclaimed. Secondly, I could not perceive the danger for which the systems had awoken me to address._

_Although I did not understand it at the time, what followed was thus: Tunnelers of the London Underground brought their work through a structure that had supported our fortification, causing the immediate collapse of earth around myself and my kin, destroying many of the systems keeping them and our tribe below in stasis while setting to flame the oxygen and destroying the consul that would enable me to manually unlock everyone from the stasis chambers—that is, the glass tubes. Before I could react to this plethora of new information, the Doctor arrives in his ship, bearing the very tunnelers who had caused the damage. Apes who would have died for their stupidity had the Doctor not intervened. Tunnelers who would not have been down in that cavern if not for the Doctor’s intense curiosity._

_For some reason unbeknownst to me at that time, the Doctor saved my life. He brought the apes to the surface, promising that he and I would return below in his ship to save my tribe. By the time we did return, however, our sanctuary had been turned into a pit of hellfire. When we again surfaced, I entered the state in which we first encountered one another._

 

            This is the first of Madame Vastra’s letters that Jenny cannot reread right away. She does carry it with her, like the others. But something about her mistress’s written tone in describing what Jenny can only imagine as pure torture moves her to some emotion so forceful she cannot cope with rereading the letter just yet. It’s that Vastra, ever so matter-of-fact, even here in this letter, describes things Jenny can barely fathom in just that way… That her mistress describes herself as “surviving” this horrid anniversary as easily as she wrote about preference for the color of the door on the new house earlier on the same page…

            For a few days, the letter sits between the sleeve of Jenny’s dress and the skin on her forearm, feeling for all she could tell like a lead brick. Yet she could not put it away. She had memorized all the little bits and bites her mistress had given her, had graciously—or perhaps greedily—welcomed Vastra’s finally opening up to _anyone_ in “ape society.” Miracle of miracles, she had deigned to choose Jenny as that first friend.

            So, as she knows she must, Jenny rereads the miserly letter. She lets that horrendously powerful empathy overwhelm her again and again as she reads it, for she knows that once Madame Vastra returns, she will not be able to look into those blue eyes in the same way.


	9. Years

**009\. Years**

 

Summer 1888

 

            _Abomination._

The word rings in Jenny’s ears, familiar yet unwelcome. _Just chop the damned beef and make a stew!_ she shouts internally. Her eyes faze out again, the afternoon replaying in her mind’s eye.

            Vastra leading her off the path to a lake. Vastra throwing off her dress and diving into the water. Vastra swimming like there’s nothing odd about a woman swimming. Much less nude. Vastra standing right in front of her.

            Jenny realizes she has called Vastra to dinner, gone into the kitchen for her own meal, and has forgotten to prepare one. _How did you manage that?_

            How did _she_ manage that? Vastra’s dresses are not cheap or easy-access. How on Earth did she manage to get all that stuff off without anybody’s help? How did she do it? How did she just stand there…? All green and silver and shining like the Queen’s crown as she came out of the water. How could she bear it, exposing herself like that? How does she bear the weight of her own crown?

            “Jane Austen.” _Oh_ , Jenny thinks. _I’m speaking?_ She’s in the library. Vastra has just asked her something, perhaps the name of the author of the novel she intends to read tonight. But Jenny has a strange feeling she has been standing in front of this bookcase for quite a long time.

            Shimmering in the daylight, Vastra sunning herself on a large boulder nearby, stretching like a cat. Greens and yellows and silvers and bronze and blue. So blue. Jenny’s never seen those storm blue eyes so closely before, just a breathe away from her own eyes. So close she could see layers of blue upon blue upon grey upon cream upon blue, dilating around pupils of impossible darkness. As Vastra bent in front of her—“My dear, live a little.”—Jenny could not see anything else.

            _Abomination!_

            _Oh get out of my head!_ Jenny shouts at herself. No, it’s not herself. The word ringing in her ears is not her own. Vastra could never be an abomination.

            _How did I get to the drawing room…?_

            Jenny has done her fair share of abominable things since she met this reptile with a conscious. She has gone out at night, something no respectable young lady would ever dare to do. She has gone out at night _unaccompanied_. She has spoken to men without fear of them. She has learned more about human civilizations than most women of her time could even imagine. She has learned to write, to read, to think. She has dressed in trousers. She has even fought back. Yes, Jenny is a warrior now, a match for any man. What’s more, she has killed. She has been essential to the capture and conviction of deplorable people, and when necessary, she has defended herself with a just slaying.

            All of these things are abominable. Years upon years, her entire life, Jenny has been trained to understand these abominations. For years she has been given answers about why her actions over the past four years have become increasingly abominable. Fine.

            But Vastra is not. There is nothing wrong with her mistress at all. Nothing.

Vastra is a person, just like her. A beautiful, brave, and terrifying person. And if Jenny has learned anything from her hard life, it is that if you should care for someone, you better let them know before God calls her name.

            Jenny stands. She drops her book. The drawing room is hot and she needs air. Her heart is pounding. Vastra, the picture of decency sitting across the room, looks up from her own reading. But she can’t see Vastra just now. No, what Jenny sees in her mind’s eye is a bullet wound. A perfect little circle of skin with no scales, just above the knee.

            Instead of walking out of the room, Jenny walks further in, stopping just in front of her mistress. Incoherent thoughts and images race through her brain as she ties to understand. She thinks she understands what her heart is pounding, what it’s trying to communicate to the rest of her.

            “Yes,” Vastra says, “my dear?”

            For less than a second, Jenny thinks her legs have come off, but she’s just crouching down. Her body sways, threatening to fall, so she places both hands on the most stable structure avaible: Vastra’s thighs, suddenly tense under the skirts she wears.

            That moment at Vastra’s knees seems to last for ages.

            A thousand years pass. Finally, Jenny pushes on her hands, she lifts up, closes her eyes, and trusts her heart to lead the way as she touches her lips to Vastra’s.


	10. Red

**010\. Red**

 

1890

 

            “Look at you!”

            Vastra glows, catching the Doctor’s eye in the mirror. She spins around.

            “Now that is beautiful,” the Doctor chirps, rubbing his hands together. “Anyway, just checked on the future missus—heheh—she’s still getting ready. Might have to duck back in a bit, but—”

            “Is she well?” Vastra asks, still smiling. “Is she nervous?”

            “ ‘Course not! Look at who she’s marrying!” the Doctor exclaims. He grabs Vastra’s hand and leads her in a few steps of a dance.

            “Doctor,” Vastra says, her tone warning.

            “Haha! Oh this is stupendous,” he goes on, oblivious. He’s put on a tuxedo for the occasion, having turned the console into a men’s changing room for himself and Strax. That said, Strax almost always wears a black suit with tails, so all the gussying up seems rather unimpressive to him. “Now where did you get that dress?”

            Vastra looks at herself in the mirror again. The cut is not quite Victorian, the Doctor is correct. It amuses her that he cannot remember what he keeps in his own closets.

            “Red was the color of my tribe,” she says. “Of our mark. I found the dress and thought it would do well today.” The portrait neckline bares far more of Vastra’s chest and shoulders than the dresses to which she has grown accustomed. Even compared to her uniforms from… before, when she did not have to hide every centimeter of her skin at all times, this silk gown reveals a great deal. It wraps round her waist, hugs her hips, before sprawling out into a flowing train. And Vastra likes it just fine.

            The Doctor smiles, leaning against a nearby bookcase. “Yes, I think it will do well.” Vastra leans her head back, eyes shut to the wonders of Tardis’s library around her, and smiles.


	11. Orange

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will make so much more sense later

**011\. Orange**

 

1893

 

            “Who should I say is calling?” Strax asks.

            “Uh… Bill. That is, Mr. William J. O’Hare, sir.”

            “Very good then. I will announce you to Madame Vastra, Mr. O’Hare. Prepare for annihilation.”

            “What?”

            “May I take your coat and hat, sir?”

            “No… Thank you. But I’m actually her to see Ms. Flint.”

            Strax pauses, computing. “Flint… Jenny.”

            “Yes, sir, Jenny Flint.”

            “I see. Wait here.” The unfortunately named butler strides down the hall to a set of doors behind the stairs. To Bill’s surprise, he shouts down into the cellar, “JENNY!”

            “Oi, don’t shout, Strax!”

            Bill chuckles, mesmerized by the oddity.

            “A Mr. William J. O’Hare is here to see you, boy!” Strax the butler returns. “Allow me to lead you into the library, sir. I hope you have your will and final testament in order.”

            “Uh… thank you?”

            Bill sits alone in the library for what seems a long time when Jenny trots into the room, tugging at the collar of her dress.

            “Mr. O’Hare!”

            “Jenny.”

            She smiles pleasantly enough. “Bill. What a surprise to see you!”

            “Yes. I’m only in town a few hours before I must be off again.”

            “What brings you to London?”

            “Oh, uh… Just new business.”

            “Well at least you don’t smell like fish anymore.”

            Bill laughs. “I was never that bad.”

            “Yes, Bill. You were,” Jenny giggles. “I’ve been getting your letters. How is the Missus?”

            Bill tries to smile. “She uh… died last winter, I’m afraid.”

            “Oh, Bill! I’m so sorry.”

            “Don’t be. A year and a half together is nothing to sneeze at.”

            “Did the-?”

            “No. The child didn’t make it. But anyway, I have received your letters as well, but I must say they are not very informative. I don’t know much of what occupies your life these days. Are you well?” Bill asks, fiddling with that old bowler hat. With his eyes cast down, he notices a glint of something in Jenny’s lap.

            “Yes, very well, thank you.”

            “Jenny, are you married?”

            At that, Jenny follows his gaze to her lap, where her hands are folded. The little band with a green gem twinkles up at her. “Yes. I am.”

            “My apologies! I’ve been writing to you as Ms. Flint!”

            “I kept my surname, so nothing to apologize for, really.”

            “You did? Well aren’t you rather untraditional.”

            “Never really was, was I?”

            “Jenny, my dear, can I bring you something to drink?” A voice calls from the hallway.

            “In here, ma’am.”

            The woman Bill remembers as the Madame Vastra enters. At first he is shocked. He never saw her face behind her veil, and good Lord it is so very green. And dry, perhaps. But ever the picture of propriety, Bill stands and gives the lady a proper nod. “Madame Vastra.”

            “Do you remember Bill, ma’am?” Jenny asks.

            “Yes, of course I recall Mr. O’Hare,” Vastra says with a curious smile. “How do you do?”

            “Quite well, thank you, Madame. I… Madame, have you remarried?”

            “I beg your pardon, sir?”

            “Excuse me, Madame, I mean no intrusion, but I see you have a ring on your finger and merely hoped to congratulate you as well. Jenny’s just informed me she is happily wed to some chap who lets her keep at her work here for you, apparently. Quite a lot of festivities around here lately it seems!”

            Vastra looks down at Jenny and back up at Bill without moving a muscle, her smile widening in a peculiar manner. “Indeed, Mr. O’Hare. You are correct. Jenny and I are both happily wedded wives.”

            Bill smiles politely. He leaves shortly thereafter, needing to return to the train station. They offer to pay for a cab to take him, but he insists he would prefer to walk along his old paths. As he reaches the corner, though, he turns back, looking at Number Thirteen. He’s thinking over the look Vastra and Jenny shared, chewing his cheek. The wind gently pulls at his long, orange hair.

            “By God,” he mutters to himself, a bemused smirk at his mouth. “Jenny Flint, you rogue.”


	12. Yellow

**012\. Yellow**

 

Early Summer 1885

 

            “Sir! Mr Parker, sir!” Jenny calls. Although the cabbie has already passed Jenny by, the horse whinnies and the wheels screech across the cobble stones to a stop.

            “Ho there! That Miss Flint?”

            “Yes, sir,” Jenny replies, trotting up to Parker’s cab.

            “Well blimey, I have not seen you in quite a while, girl!”

            “Indeed.”

            “To what do I owe the pleasure, Miss?”

            “Actually, I have a favor to ask.”

 

            Vastra is not entirely sure what is going on, but the thought crosses her mind that perhaps she has been kidnapped. Perhaps certain apes have been alerted to her presence among them and wish to… well what? Kill her? Avenge her meals? Use her against their enemies?

            Granted that all seems unlikely. The ape girl, Jenny, had proven to be a loyal and true, contrary to what Vastra might have deduced based on what she recalls of these apes’ ancestors. She did not think the maid would have sold her out. Nonetheless, she sat poised in the carriage, ready to pounce should this driver prove less than trustworthy.

            Finally, Vastra is too bored to just sit there any longer. She pulls back one of the curtains over the door windows.

            “My word,” she mutters.

            Vastra had known there had surely left London, as the terrain was much more seriously upsetting. But this is most unexpected. Around the cart spreads an endless field of flowers full of sharp, pungent aroma. The air is blissfully warm and muggy, and not a breath of London’s dire pollution enters Vastra’s lungs. Above, the sky is clear and blue, cloudless. “Driver!”

            “Yes, ma’am?” Parker calls, his voice muffled through the wind and the carriage door.

            “Stop!”

            He obliges. Vastra steps out of the carriage, right in the middle of the yellow flowers. Glorious summer heat wraps around her and she must stand as still as possible for a moment, shocked and overjoyed that, contrary to what she had feared, these humans had not polluted her planet into a state of perpetual smog and cold.

            “Ma’am?”

            “Where are we?”

            “I believe it’s a field owned by the Coleman family, ma’am. The mustard company?”

            “Mustard?”

            “Yes, ma’am. The sauce?”

            Vastra nods, pretending to know what he means. “But I do not understand. Your task was to lead me around the outskirts of town.”

            “Yes, ma’am. But your parlour maid thought you’d appreciate a detour round here.”

            Vastra flicks her tongue behind her veil. Without a word she turns and steps back into the carriage. Sensing he’s been more or less dismissed, Parker cues the horse to continue onward. Meanwhile, looking out the window at the endless, rolling hills of yellow spice, Vastra attempts to puzzle out why Jenny thought she would enjoy the detour, completely oblivious to her own happiness at the gift.


	13. Green

**013\. Green**

 

1890… in a manner of speaking

 

            “Is it over?” Vastra croaks from somewhere beneath the main console in the Tardis.

            “Yes! Yes, we have landed!” the Doctor announces above. “Vastra?”

            “Down here.” The Doctor’s face pops over the edge of the guardrails.

            “Well what in blazes are you doing down there?”

            “I fell, Doctor,” Vastra hisses, standing again.

            “Ah…” His hands and fingers move at random, awkward and unsure of what to do with themselves. “Sorry.”

            “Noted.” Vastra locates the stairs and climbs back to the consol. “So, we are—?”

            “In the land of your ancestors. Really your ancestors’ ancestors! Your tribe is relatively young in fact.”

            “The Silurians you mean?”

            “No, I mean _your_ tribe!” the Doctor says with a grin. “I did my research while you were getting ready. I hadn’t realized the extent of the differentiation between your tribe and the one we found in Wales, it’s really quite remarkable…” As the Doctor heads towards the front door, he suddenly freezes. His words catch up to him, and he remembers his recent past.

            “Doctor?”

            “I…” he says, looks away as Vastra steps alongside him. “I forgot that… I haven’t traveled since…”

            “Let’s go,” Vastra says decisively, moving forward. The Doctor shuffles a moment, huffing a bit, then follows.

            “You know, just because you are a Silurian doesn’t mean you know what’s out there. You shouldn’t just waltz out there first before I have a look.”

            “Hush, Doctor, I am millions of years old.”

            He looks irritable. “That doesn’t count!”

            “Of course it does,” Vastra snaps back. “Now judging by my account of my tribe’s history, I do believe we have gone too far.”

            “How can we have gone too far? How can you even tell that? It’s all… giant bugs and giant ferns here.”

            “While I appreciate your enthusiasm for your surroundings, Doctor, I believe if you had any sense of smell at all, you would notice a lack of something.”

            Although his mouth twitches. Finally, reluctantly, he sticks out his tongue. “It tastes wrong.”

            “I believe so,” Vastra agrees. Without turning, she reaches back and pulls several giant fern fronds out of their way, through which they can see a gathering of bipedal creatures in the distance. “And I believe these creatures are so early in my tribe’s history as to be incapable of producing the artifact we seek.”

            Looking out, the Doctor sees that the Silurians here look to be roughly the reptilian equivalent of cavemen. “It’s not my fault your lot evolved so quickly.”

            “Back to the Tardis.”

            “Hey! You don’t even have a key.”

            “I do not require one, Doctor, I have the password,” Vastra replies. With a swing of her hips and a snap of her fingers, the doors swing open to greet her. As she crosses the threshold, she looks up at the glowing Tardis sign and blows a kiss. Behind her, the Doctor could not look more appalled if the Tardis left him there and flew off with Vastra.

            “Don’t flirt!” he says, pointing up at his blue box. He enters, and they go to try again.

 

           

Both Vastra and the Doctor are physiologically inclined towards staying awake for several days at a time, and before long many days have indeed past for their individual timelines. In days past, Vastra could have stayed up even longer, but living among the humans has affected her. She finally requests time to rest.

            Spending days at a time to find an exact date within the course of thousands (let alone millions) of years does not generate quite as much excitement in the Doctor as the trips these two have taken previously. The only excitement he has felt during this escapade is when Vastra goes hunting for meat she has not tasted in a very long time. He grimaces watching her eat her fill in the Tardis. He stays away, keen on keeping blood of his nighty.

            Madame Vastra sighs contentedly. The Velociraptor didn’t stand a chance, and now there was little left but bones.

            “Glad to see you got the wedding feast over and done with without Jenny present.”

            Vastra is too busy digesting to counter the barb. Slowly, she carries the bones outside the Tardis doors, returns, slumping into her pallet in the console room. The Doctor stays on his, watching her and still a little aggravated that they have to rest at all (hence their location at the main console). Eventually, even his eye lids grow heavy.

            “Why do you not travel again?”

            The Doctor snaps back to attention. He sees Vastra watching him from the glow of the controls, the Tardis’s new décor.

            “Are you suggesting that I _should_?”

            “No.” Vastra offers no further explanation. The Doctor smiles a bit at the corner of his mouth, looks down at his hands. But she continues to watch him. _He is different from the others_ , she thinks. She is beginning to understand that although her old friend remains the Doctor always, he changes utterly each time he regenerates. Seeing him go through losses in the past, his current state intrigues her. All she can surmise is that this time, losing River at over a thousand years old, _all_ of his losses have resurfaced in his consciousness to such a point as to torture the poor man. Could she handle such a conviction if forced to face all her myriad failures in her mind’s eye? Could she continue living with such a curse?

 

            Loud banging at the door wakens them. The Doctor sits up, his nightcap covering his eyes. Vastra has leapt clear on top of one of the guardrails, her movements snappish.

            “What the devil is that?!”

            “I don’t know,” the Doctor says, standing, suddenly not in his nighty. _How does he do that?_ Vastra thinks. “But there is a very simple way to remedy the situation,” he says, going to the control panel.

Vastra jumps alongside him and throws some switches.

“Don’t do that! What is wrong with you?” The Doctor races to correct the damage done.

“We are _not_ changing time zones.”

“Why not?”

“As much as I am sure it would help your ego, I have no interest in suddenly coming from a tribe that worships a big blue box.”

“I- you- how-!” the Doctor stammers, outraged yet again. He glares at Vastra, who raises her brow and spins, walking toward the door. “You don’t know what’s out there!”

“And I do not care.”

“Wait! It’s Silurians!”

“Your point?”

“Here, on the screen,” the Doctor says, sneering at the screen above the console. Vastra returns, looks over his shoulder. She snarls. “What is it?”

“This is not my tribespeople. They are here to make false treaties with us, and have stumbled upon your box on their way.”

“Do you still not want them worshipping a big blue box?”

Vastra considers for a moment. “No,” she sighs. Suddenly, the Tardis shifts. “What are they doing?”

“Using the left overs from your meal to beat up my ship!” the Doctor roars.

Vastra hisses a low curse.

“Watch your tongue!”

“I forgot about predation law!” Vastra cries. “How could I have forgotten?”

            “Less wailing, more explaining!” the Doctor shouts as the Tardis is rocked again by the angry crowd outside.

            “Certain species in certain territories are only hunted by certain tribes by law, or else.”

            “But you’ve clearly hunted that type before.”

            “Laws change over thousands of years. By my time, my tribe was the oldest still standing, ergo we had rights to whatever we wanted.”

            The Tardis shifts again, and the shouts outside crescendo.

            “Let them come, I’ll have their heads!”

            “No!” the Doctor shouts, climbing a guardrail he was just knocked over. “They won’t get in. Nothing gets through those doors.”

            “And you are certain of that?” Vastra asks, watching her own kind build something of a battering ram from the Velociraptor’s bones via the console screen.

            “Well… Do you think they’re familiar with vehicles?”

            “What?”

            “You know, cars, skateboards, planes, hover disks, horse and buggy?”

“I believe they have some rudimentary electronic capabilities during this time frame—”

            “Good enough!” the Doctor announces. Outside, the Silurians freeze in amazement. The Tardis might not be shifting invisible, but it does lift itself up a good meter from the ground and spin off into the trees, leaving the locals dumbfounded.

 

            After some actual rest, the pair returns to their mission. It takes an entire week just to find the right locational coordinates again, by which point the Doctor and Vastra are about one escapade away from skinning each other. When the Doctor traveled with River, he could always count on the intimacies of their relationship to tender the natural tension between such dominant personalities. With Vastra, not only was he disinterested but even an attempt might result in his very painful death.

            “Where is Jenny when you need her?” he glowers, following Vastra down the ramp and out the door.

            “I think we’ve finally done it, Doctor!” Vastra coos, ignoring his attitude. “I must say for a time traveler, you are not very adept at the art of precision.”

            “I don’t travel that way.”

            “I understand,” Vastra replies, moving out into the starlight.

            “I don’t travel at all…” the Doctor mutters to himself, shrugging in his Victorian outfit. He can only sneer at the strange building before him, a Silurian mansion of sorts. Vastra’s tribe in its prime. Or rather, on the tail end of their golden age.

            Later in the evening, the Doctor attempting to sonic a door as quietly as he can, reiterates his earlier lament. “Where is Jenny when you need her?”

            “It’s not wood, it should work! Hurry up, Doctor!”

            The Doctor smacks the end of his screwdriver a few times and tries again. Luckily, the door opens just as four very large guards start running down the hall they’re in. Together, Vastra and the Doctor rush into the room and barricade the door.

            “Finally!”

            “Hey!”

            Vastra moves to the desk in the middle of the room, on which sits a little paperweight. Only it isn’t: Within the glass object, a little circle the color of bronze with a glimmering green jewel embedded in it floats. The Doctor watches as Vastra picks it up, raises it above her head, and—

            “Wait!”

            It smashes. Immediately an alarm sounds throughout the mansion. Vastra ignores the wailing sound, picking the ring out of the glass shards and stowing it away. “Shall we?”

            “Shall we what? Where are we going to go, Vastra? Use your head once in a while!”

 

            The Tardis doors slam shut behind them, locking out their pursuers. Vastra and the Doctor laugh, collapsed on the floor, between gasps for air as they catch their breath.

            “We got it!” Vastra announces, letting her head drop down to the floor.

            “Now let’s get you home to Miss Flint,” the Doctor says, groaning as he attempts to stand. Secretly, he’s eager to be back himself. Traveling contains too many reminders. However, he stops, for Vastra has fallen asleep. Thinking of it, he realizes he feels quite a good deal more fatigued than a typical escape usually leaves him. Nonetheless, he shakes Vastra awake.

            “Mm-what? Jenny?”

            “No. Go sleep in a bed,” the Doctor says.

            “Make me,” Vastra groans, clearly unwilling to get up from the floor. The Doctor jabs her with one of his long fingers. “Enough! Look, I am rising as I speak.”

            “Sleep tight,” the Doctor calls after her. She just snarls. But from her vest pocket she retrieves her prize, admires the green gem, hopes Jenny will like it. Vastra halts mid-step, suddenly recalling that this is not meant to be just any gift for her beloved Jenny. Worry steals into her chest as she continues down the hallways to a bedroom.

            Meanwhile, back by the console, the Doctor remains on the floor, dozing. _Let them try to break through those doors_ , he thinks, _I dare them._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The wedding ring! And you thought I was going to write about scales, didn’t you?


	14. Blue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired in part by the image here: http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_mdpwx9ixWC1qf212vo1_500.png .  
> If anyone could help me find and name the artist, I would like to give them proper credit.

**014\. Blue**

 

Spring 1888

 

            “The weather is hardly threatening at this point, Jenny.”

            “I would feel better all the same, ma’am.” Jenny reaches up to remove Madame Vastra’s cloak from its place on a rack near the front entryway of Number 13 Paternoster Row. She walks back to her waiting mistress, gingerly pulling bits of dirt and lint from the careworn garment. “It can still get nasty cold in London late at night this time of year, in case you’ve forgotten.”

            Vastra sniffs, smiles down amusedly at Jenny as she takes the proffered cloak. She replies, “I do recall that particular incident, Jenny, no need to remind me. If I may say so I do not believe it was quite such a dire situation as you have regaled to me. I do not think I was so very far gone.”

            “It was and you were,” Jenny replies, sparing a moment to glare meaningfully at her mistress while fidgeting in her get up. It is something of Vastra’s creation, meant to be light and uninhibitive of free movement while maintaining the overall guise of a dress for such nights investigating cases that require Jenny wear a dress and a combat suit. However, Jenny suspects that Vastra does not really understand the construction of modern dresses, and although it is quite lovely, it is surprisingly uncomfortable.  Eventually she turns to look to her mistress and teacher, expecting her to lead the way out into the night for another adventure.

Jenny starts, finding intensely storm blue eyes fixed on her. Seeking to mask her surprise, she instantly steps back toward Vastra. “It’s no use if you don’t put the hood up, ma’am,” she mutters. But Vastra just keeps watching her, green-but-gloved hands doing up the cloak’s front buttons, as Jenny lifts her mistress’s hood up over her crown. Stepping back, Jenny blushes, unable to either meet or escape the gaze of Madame Vastra. Why she blushes, she doesn’t know, but she decides then and there to head for the door.

 

            Sometime between three and four in the morning, Vastra is sitting in a chair in the kitchen, obediently leaning forward as Jenny presses to her back a clay pot of sorts—a predecessor of what would one day be called the hot water bottle. She flicks her tongue out repeatedly, rapidly, the beat muscles in her back relaxing.

            “It was not so very cold this evening, as I suspected,” Vastra comments.

            “No, and it is entirely your doing,” Jenny replies.

            For a moment, Vastra hesitates, a tiny fluttering sensation in her chest. “Oh?”

            “Indeed, for you have an arrogant hot head. It could heat the planet on its own should the sun go out.”

            Vastra chuckles. Not exactly the response she had hoped for, but Jenny’s banter is always most welcome. “Your theory is full of holes.”

            “As you would be if I wasn’t there to save your green hide, ma’am.”

            Vastra smiles, licks her lips. “On an unrelated note,” she says then, “what would you think of traveling outside of London occasionally? When the weather is warm enough to your satisfaction, I have been considering that perhaps a bit of fresh air would do us both some good.”

            “Would you like to take the train, ma’am?”

            “No,” Vastra says, pursing her lips. “That might prove far too much trouble with my ‘skin condition,’ I believe.”

            “Perhaps we could hire out a cab,” Jenny muses. “Mr. Parker keeps his secrets well, and his clients, too.”

            “Perhaps that would do,” Vastra agrees. She sighs, momentarily content.


	15. Purple

**015\. Purple**

 

1893… sort of

 

            _No. No, no!_

            Jenny is running, even as she hears Vastra’s voice, her gentle laugh, saying, “He saved your life when we met…”

            She is in London, years ago. This night. How is she here? How is it possible that—again—she is falling, dragged down into the filth and muck of an alley gutter by two rank men? Then the sound, not of a whip, but of what she _knows_ is a tongue.

            “Jenny?” Her wife’s voice is distant, muted, yet Jenny knows it is true. She was just _there_! At Trenzalore. She had been saved by dear Strax and met with the eyes of her wife. Vastra had been there, holding her, lifting her up. Jenny had been clinging to her arm, terrified, but alive. Magnificently alive after she was sure she was dead, sure she would never feel the touch of Vastra’s scales again, sure that she had breathed her last breath giving warning to her friends.

            And the Doctor, wearing some ridiculous purple coat of all things, falling at the edge of a beautiful light, convulsing in Clara’s arms.

            _I was there!_ Jenny thinks, and yet she is here. And younger. She leaps up, knowing already who she is about to meet, who it is that is wailing, running towards her out of the darkness. Part of her mind is shocked and frightened, having never seen such a face before. Yet a still stronger part of Jenny shouts through her heart and conscious. _Vastra! That is my wife!_

            This has happened before. Twice she has met this Silurian for the first time. Twice she has fallen in the muck, only to be pinned against the brick wall by an infuriated, pained woman of green complexion.

            But this time, no one calls out to Vastra. No one tells her to stop. Even Jenny, fighting with all her strength to speak, to say the name of the woman before her—whom she loves intensely despite only having just met her—can do nothing, as though some outside force presses on her.

            “…Jenny! No!” The voice is muted again, distant, but she can hear Vastra, even as she can see her. But this Vastra before Jenny does not speak. It’s the Vastra that Jenny remembers. _How can I remember someone I am meeting this very moment?_

            Electric pain seizes Jenny’s neck. She cries out, falls, barely able to see Vastra run off. Her heart breaks, and her body feels as though it is being burned, splintering into a million pieces by the poison coursing through her now. For a moment, she had thought… thought this Vastra here could recognize her, would not attack her. _Oh, Vastra!_ Jenny thinks, leaning against the wall, her hands clutching her enflamed neck.

            “Please, no!” Jenny can hear Vastra still. The one on Trenzalore. How? How can she hear Vastra? How are they still connected? And what has become of her, Jenny, that Vastra sounds so very frightened… and distant.

            Jenny feels very aware of her own heartbeat. The muscle seems to be working very hard, even as sounds fade and vision blurs. _Vastra_ , Jenny thinks. Her arms are heavy; they slump down to her sides. _My wife…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vastra remembered Jenny, and Jenny remembered Vastra.


	16. Brown

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very much mature content!

**016\. Brown**

Fall 1888

 

Jenny grasps the back of her mistress’s neck and kisses the scales adorning her forehead. They have managed to come to a compromise after their first “lover’s quarrel,” as the Doctor described it. Vastra lays a hand on Jenny’s and strokes the back of it.

“Come on, then,” Jenny whispers. “Let’s get you to bed.”

“Yes, let’s,” Vastra says, standing. She keeps hold of Jenny’s hand. “However, we need to bandage that cut on your jaw. It might be clean, but that will not be enough to prevent infection.”

“I’ll be fine,” Jenny says as they make their way up the stairs. Nonetheless, Vastra leads her into a washroom and sets about sealing the wound as best as she can. To her credit, Jenny does not flinch once. Her brown eyes watch Vastra’s face.

“That should do,” her mistress says, finally covering the slice with a protective bandage. “For now, in any case. It should not prevent free movement.” Jenny stands from her perch on a little stool, still watching Vastra’s face. “I am sorry, Jenny,” Vastra whispers up to her. “For my behavior this evening.”

“Me too.”

            Vastra decides to take a chance. “Would you like to… stay in my quarters tonight?”

            Jenny fiddles with some hair behind her ear for a moment. “I… I would.”

They take each other’s hands once more, uncertain, and walk into Vastra’s bedroom. _Jenny was here before she woke me downstairs,_ Vastra realizes. _Before she came to me with a compromise_. Vastra watches her tenderly as her companion puts another log on an already blazing fire. Fighting had been so exhausting, yet the sight of Jenny’s selflessness—making Vastra’s bedroom warm, even in the midst of their conflict—rejuvenates. Without a word, Jenny walks behind Vastra to start undressing her. Vastra stands patiently, listening to the merry pops of the fire nearby. Finally, she steps out of the heavy thing, and while Jenny goes to put it away, Vastra goes about looking for her nightgown. Before she can reach for it, however, she feels something warm and soft press against her back.

Jenny’s arms slowly wrap around Vastra’s torso from behind, hands politely staying away from Vastra’s undergarments. However, Vastra can tell that Jenny’s warm body is anything but dressed. The crown of her skull quivers at the thought. Slowly, she lays her arms atop Jenny’s, sighing as her companion warms her back. Jenny sighs against her shoulder blades.

“Come to bed, my dear?”

“Mmm.”

            Jenny walks behind her mistress to the bed, out of sight. As Vastra turns to climb into bed, she sees Jenny silhouetted against the light of the fireplace. The human climbs onto the foot of the bed and crawls toward her. As Vastra is seated on the edge, Jenny reclines behind her, gently caressing her arms and back, breathing gently on Vastra’s neck. Her body relaxes into Jenny, who embraces her from behind again.

            “Jenny,” Vastra murmurs, twists around to see. Jenny watches with dark eyes. She hasn’t touched Vastra in well over a week, not since the symptoms of their disagreement began. Time she could not get back in a very short life on the planet Earth. So Jenny pulls Vastra closer and kisses her, pulls the undergarments off, holds her bejeweled body in her arms, tangles her legs between her partner’s.

            “I have missed you, Jenny.” Jenny’s lips look so enticing. Vastra looks between them and dark eyes.

            “I know,” Jenny replies, her voice husky.

 _Oh, that is superb_ , Vastra thinks. She’s close enough that she touches Jenny’s nose with her own, not to be cute but to simply touch. Jenny reciprocates with a kiss that pulls. Meanwhile, one of her talented, calloused hands caresses Vastra’s cheek while the other reaches for a breast. While Vastra’s breasts are not nearly as sensitive as Jenny’s, she leans into Jenny’s cupped palm.

She pulls at Jenny’s hips, and her warm-blooded companion wraps one of her legs around Vastra’s waist, enfolding the reptile in her heat for a moment.

“Where are you off to?” Vastra demands when Jenny pulls away, rolling on top of Vastra.

“Shhh.”

Jenny shifts, kisses Vastra’s jaw, neck, collarbone. Vastra flicks her tongue out and in, aiming for those hard nipples—gems on Jenny’s breasts—as they slowly move further away. Jenny is working her way down Vastra’s body. When she reaches the hips, she looks back up at Vastra. She looks utterly mischievous with those brown eyes and engorged lips. Without further ado, Jenny pushes Vastra’s legs apart and kisses the mound between them.

Vastra’s anatomy does not match Jenny’s. The folds are simpler, and no Silurian—male or female—has a sensitive little bundle of nerves for the singular purpose of pleasure. Still, Jenny’s kisses are arousing. Her tongue, thick and wet instead of long and rough, begins to dart out between kisses, tasting Vastra’s most minute scales.

“Oh Jenny,” Vastra sighs, humming with delight. Then she gasps. Vastra looks down, past her own heaving chest, as Jenny makes eye contact with her. There is no doubting it; Jenny is tasting _inside_ Vastra, even as she locks those big, brown eyes on her. “Jenny!”

“Mmm?” Her voice vibrates into Vastra, who is striving—and failing—to breathe evenly through the fireworks in her mind and body. Jenny becomes increasingly determined or curious (Vastra can’t be certain which), pushing her tongue further into her darling Vastra even as her lips suck and kiss the exterior scales.

“Jenny!” Vastra gasps. “I’m… I… I’m so… very…” Vastra can sense more fireworks gathering around Jenny’s mouth.

“Mmhmm.”

Hands reach for Jenny, gently pulling her hair out of her bun. Her black locks fall around her. She looks back up at Vastra, whose fierce blue eyes hold her gaze.

“Impossible,” Vastra breathes. The look in her eyes is unmistakable, and Jenny smiles. She won’t look away, not now with Vastra on such fine display. “Jenny, it’s impossible,” says Vastra. Jenny lets go of one of Vastra’s legs with one hand and reaches forward with the other. She finds one of Vastra’s own hands clinging to the bed sheets for dear life, and Jenny caresses her hand and wrist as she drives her tongue as deeply into Vastra as she can. “Impossible!” Vastra declares. Even as she does, her back arches, her hand takes a tight hold of Jenny’s own, and her tongue flicks in and out of her mouth rapidly.

 _That’s it,_ Jenny thinks. _There you are, my darling_. Finally, Jenny lets her go. Vastra collapses, shaking as fireworks burst throughout her bloodstream. Jenny works her way back up Vastra’s body, pleased with herself for taking her time and making it count. She lays her head between Vastra’s breasts, listening to her rapid heartbeat and relishing her mistress’s increased temperature. Still shaking, Vastra strokes Jenny’s back.

“How on Earth did you manage that, my dear?”

“Can’t say I know,” Jenny replies coyly.

“Come here,” Vastra insists, pulling Jenny up into a long, passionate, grateful kiss. “I believe it is your turn.”

“No, my darling, you need to rest.”

“That’s hardly fair,” Vastra protests.

            “My darling, it isn’t always about ‘fair,’” Jenny replies between Vastra’s insistent kisses. “Call it a gift.”  ~~~~


	17. Black

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mature stuff implied, but nothing much

**017\. Black**

 

1889

 

            Vastra wakes smiling. It is a rare, special treat to wake before her dear companion. Jenny so often beats her to it, sneaking off in the morning to tend to the household needs, leaving Vastra a little put out each time. Last night, however, had involved some particularly tiresome investigations… and by investigations, what is actually meant is chasing down conmen. So Vastra’s beloved must rest, much to her own pleasure.

            Curling, pressing closer to Jenny’s warm back and nightshirt, Vastra sighs happily. More still when Jenny, still unconscious, scoots closer, too. What a strange thing to give her such unmitigated happiness. And Vastra once again thinks, as she still does occasionally, at how she has fallen in love with an ape. A mammal, a creature of heat and hair. The thought hangs in Vastra’s mind, and she gently runs her fingers through Jenny’s hair.

            _Who cares?_ Vastra thinks. Humming, sleepy, she snuggles up to Jenny again. She hides her face in that beautiful curtain of black.


	18. White

**018\. White**

 

1890

 

            Jenny thinks it’s a bit odd, using the deck of a swimming pool in a time machine as her changing room, but perhaps she has done odder things in her life. For instance, agreeing to marry a lizard woman.

            She does not often think of Vastra that way. No, she might never really be used to her scales or forked tongue, but that all seems rather exciting to Jenny at this point, not off-putting. And really, compared to being part of a two-women, one-alien team of crime fighting detectives, the fact that one of the two women has scales seems a little less bizarre.

            “May I enter?” Strax calls from the corridor.

            “No!” Jenny shouts back. She hasn’t even started dressing. She’s just sitting in her robe, staring at the dress. It had been incredibly difficult to procure—not because it was expensive, but because a young lady seeking a wedding dress usually comes accompanied by her mother and sisters—and now that she has it, now that she’s going to use it, Jenny feels entirely too petrified to even touch it. The dress is altogether more beautiful than anything she has ever dreamed she might wear to anyone’s wedding.

            The collar and sleeves are delicate lace, as are the gloves. Embroidered silk makes up the bodice, the skirts, even the stockings. All of it is more brilliantly white than clouds or snow, excepting the garters, which are blue according to the insistence of the tailor.

            Jenny just knows she will tear the things to shreds if she touches anything.

            “Jenny? You all right in there?” the Doctor calls, knocking on the door. “You haven’t fallen in the pool, have you?”

            “No!”

            The Doctor peeks his head in. “You haven’t even started changing!”

            “I know, I just—”

            “Don’t keep Vastra waiting now, let’s go!” He departs, closing the door once more.

            Jenny sighs. She stands up.


	19. Colorless

**019\. Colorless**

 

Early 1885

 

            Madame Vastra goes out alone at night, every night. Thinking back, Jenny cannot recall exactly when she noticed this pattern of behavior, but it can’t have started that long ago. She has only been serving the Lady for a few months after all. Now wait, how long has it been?

            Jenny shakes her head. She is not exactly sure what her employer is doing out in the dark of the streets of London, but whatever the creature is doing must be profitable. The Lady has very recently moved to a larger apartment. Jenny has never seen anything like this place before in her life. It has a main room, its own bathroom, a kitchen and small pantry, and a main bedroom.

At this point, the creature has increased Jenny’s pay so that the maid now lives on site, keeping herself to a little closet of a room by the kitchen, designed specifically for the purpose of providing quarters for a single servant. Her mat lies atop a nook by the window there, her clothes dangling above her head from pegs in the wall. Little else decorates her room. Jenny has her own room!

            The maid has taken to adjusting her hours to her employer’s schedule. Jenny still brings three meals to the creature every day, but since the Lady does not seem to care much for Jenny’s company, doing the cleaning and chores at night while she is out seems a better plan for both parties.

Tonight, however, will be different.

            Jenny sits in her little wooden chair in the kitchen, mending a tear in one of the creature’s cloaks. She hears footsteps coming from the hall. _Better put a pot of water on_ , she thinks.

            “It is too cold!” Vastra yells as she enters the main room.

Jenny continues preparing the tea. Once the steaming beverage is ready, Jenny places the pot and cup on a tray and goes into the main room to serve it. But Vastra is not there. _I know I heard her_ , Jenny thinks, looking around the room. She walks to the bedroom door and knocks. “Would you care for some tea, ma’am?”

A vicious hissing sound answers.

Jenny blinks at the doorknob, thinking. “You are home quite early, ma’am. Is everything all right?”

“No, it is not!”

“Are you ill?”

“Just bring the tea and get out!” Vastra shouts. Jenny pauses. She should bring in the tea, but the Lady seems to be more irritable than normal. “Well?”

At that prompting, Jenny enters. She places the tray carefully on the bedside table, looking up briefly. The creature’s back is turned towards her, so she leaves without seeing the little bits of colorless flakes peeling from her employer’s skin.

 

 

Early 1886

 

            Jenny stands breathless in the cellar. She has only just begun training under her mistress. Madame Vastra occasionally sleeps past the designated start time for Jenny’s daily training sessions, but this is the first time her mistress has not made it down by the end of her warm up. Having finished her ten sets, Jenny does not know exactly what she should do now.

            With some trepidation, Jenny climbs the cellar stairs. She calls up to the second story landing. “Ma’am?” When there is no reply, she goes to the next flight of stairs, climbing slowly.

            “Ma’am?” Jenny calls again as she walks tentatively toward her mistress’s bedroom door. “Ma’am, are you all right?”

            A low, miserable groan passes through the door.

            “Ma’am?”

            “Do not enter,” Vastra replies.

            Jenny takes a moment to think. Clearly, something is wrong. Her mistress probably needs her help, as she usually does (though Vastra would never admit to that). Disobeying Vastra’s order, however, could be a very bad idea if her mistress is in a foul mood.

            “Ma’am, are you ill?”

            “No,” Vastra groans.

            “And are you decent, ma’am?”

            “Never.” Jenny smiles. Her mistress has developed a taste for sarcasm.

            “Ma’am?”

            “Leave me alone.”

            “I’m coming in, ma’am,” Jenny replies, opening the door. As expected, Vastra lets out an exasperated growl. From the doorway, Jenny can tell something is amiss. Her mistress is seated in front of the fireplace, her bed robe pulled close around her, trying to coax some flames by herself. Or at least, she is holding the poker; from the looks of things, the fire is not cooperating.

            “Jenny, please go.”

            “You weren’t at training, ma’am.”

            “I am well aware. I apologize. Practice what I taught you last week.”

            “Ma’am, what is wrong?” Jenny asks, walking across the room. As she approaches Vastra, she begins to notice that her mistress looks off color. “You don’t look well.”

            Vastra sighs. “It is perfectly normal.”

            “What is, ma’am?” Jenny asks, standing next to Vastra now. Colorless flakes and sheets curl from atop her head.

            “If you must know, I am molting,” Vastra hisses.

            “Molting?”

            “Shedding. Peeling. Creating a new layer of skin and discarding the old. Really, Jenny, how do you know nothing about reptilian physiology?” Vastra sighs when Jenny does not respond. “It is a rather delicate and private matter.”

            “How often does it happen, ma’am?” Jenny asks, ignoring Vastra’s implied invitation for her to leave.

            “You… Roughly twice a year. The last time, I was still abroad.”

            “And how long does it last?”

            “A week. Or so, but really Jenny, will you please leave?”         

            “That doesn’t sound too bad,” Jenny thinks aloud.

            “I beg your pardon?” Vastra snarls, looking up at her maid.

            Jenny meets Vastra’s gaze—even the poor thing’s eyes look cloudy, the blue drained out—raising her eyebrows. The look demands Vastra remember something.

            “What?”

            “Ma’am, do you remember… the second month I was in your service? You had only just started speaking to me.”

            “What is your point, Jenny?”

            “Do you remember asking me rather… improper questions about monthly cycles?”

            Vastra seems nonplussed. Suddenly, she looks away, down at the poker in her hand. “Yes, I do recall that now.”

            “Good. Now ma’am, is there anything I can do for you?”

            Vastra sighs again. “Yes. Find me something better than this,” she says, lifting the poker, “with which I can reach my back.” Jenny leaves immediately, and Vastra flicks her tongue out in embarrassment.

She supposes she has no choice but to trust the ape to help her. But Vastra’s pride stings. Of course, she has trusted Jenny with a great number of things—knowledge of her work, information about her people, training in her martial arts, this care of this house, even her very life after dangerous encounters—yet this seems so very personal to Vastra. Among Vastra’s own people, certainly, shedding was universal and commonplace, easy to understand and sympathize with. Surrounded by humans, however, Vastra feels rather pathetic. And lonely.

Jenny returns with a broom and a hairbrush. “You can keep these, ma’am,” she says, smiling. She leaves them next to her gloomy mistress and returns to the door. “I’ll go practice then.”

“Thank you,” Vastra mutters.


	20. Friends

**020\. Friends**

 

September 1887

 

            “Ha!” Jenny pivots, strikes and turns. She is gaining the upper hand in this sparring session.

            “Do not preen, Jenny. You would be dead by now if we were using the real blades.”

            “Yes, ma’am!” Jenny replies, enjoying herself nonetheless. She knows she cannot match her mistress’s skill, but today she simply does not care. Sparring is fun, even when she won’t win.

            “Watch your stance,” Vastra instructs. With a little more effort, she could overpower the human. Granted, Vastra is already putting out a fair bit of effort.

            “Take that!” Jenny proclaims, flourishing her blade as she forces Vastra back.

            “What has gotten into you, ape?”

            “Lizard!”

            “What did you call me?” For that, Vastra attacks. Jenny returns to defense. _As she should be._ Despite herself, though, Vastra rather enjoys the match as well. “There!” she says triumphantly, her bokken sneaking behind the hilt of Jenny’s. They freeze, the match over. But Vastra hums and disarms Jenny even so.

            “Oi!”

            “Don’t ‘oi’ me.”

            “Don’t break the rules of engagement, ma’am,” Jenny says, wagging a finger. Vastra just shakes her head with a smile. “Very well, ma’am. Think fast!”

            “Aagh!”

            Jenny tackles Vastra, batting away the wooden practice sword and dragging her teacher to the cellar floor.

            “Jenny Flint, what in blazes are you doing?” Vastra roars, properly steamed now as she tries to shove the ape off.

            “We haven’t practiced grappling in a while, ma’am,” Jenny replies, avoiding Vastra’s claws as her mistress strives to remedy her situation.

            _Well, blast it all_ , Vastra thinks. Jenny is actually quite talented at hand-to-hand combat, and grappling has never been Vastra’s best event. Momentarily, she thinks that this really is intolerable behavior from a student. But then she has undone Jenny’s footing and she moves to pin the foolish, silly human.

            “Haha!”

            Jenny has tricked her, flipped her on her stomach, knees digging into her back. A human opponent would not be able to extricate itself from Jenny’s hold.

            “Enough!” Vastra shouts, dislodging Jenny by sheer force. Her temper rises. “Jenny, that is not acceptable conduct!”

            The maid stands and helps Vastra up. “Ma’am. I’m sorry, ma’am,” she says calmly, but she continues to smile. “It was out of line, yes, ma’am.” Vastra shakes herself, glaring. Jenny looks away, trying to repress a smile.

            “Why now, Jenny?” Vastra hisses. “You have always behaved appropriately in training. What’s come over you?”

            “I’m sorry, ma’am, I am,” Jenny insists, her dimples giving her away. “Do forgive me, ma’am? I just forgot for a moment. We are friends, after all.”

            Vastra considers the human breathing deeply from exertion before her. She sniffs, twitches angrily, willing herself to be patient. “It is… a fine line we tread, Jenny. Yes, we are friends. _And_ we are a student and master. And whether we approve of how the society of apes attaches worth to these roles or not, we are employee and employer; In that particular situation we must at least feign the hierarchy in the presence of others. But nonetheless, it is imperative that you do not act too familiarly with me during such a time as your training,” Vastra states. “Am I understood?”

            Jenny nods. “Yes, ma’am. I do understand.” And she does. She knows this is an extremely unusual arrangement no matter how you look at it. It would be absolutely deplorable to anyone else if her training were discovered. Jenny suspects the Silurians would not much care for her training, either, and she _knows_ her rather rash decision just now would be punished harshly were she one of their kind, millions of years ago. And the fact that she and Vastra are attempting to negotiate such an important relationship as master and student, while simultaneously trying to live into mutual respect for each other’s species, is dizzying when she actually thinks about it. _But_ , Jenny thinks, _it is perhaps the last of fine weather before summer ends. How could anyone bear to be unpleasant today?_

            Jenny feels decidedly alive and cheerful by the end of their daily training sessions, without fail. Today seems especially bright. She was showing off by trying to pin her mistress; Jenny knows that was wrong. Deep down, she doesn’t regret having just the one instance of disobedience.

 

            As it happens, even Vastra cannot deny herself a venture outdoors. On the pretense of teaching Jenny a lesson, she accompanies her maid on household errands. Her cover is ridiculous of course; Jenny, as ever, stays just a step behind her mistress, acting exactly as deferent as she should. And although she wants to be callous, Vastra cannot remain unfriendly.

            Jenny was right. They are friends.

            Despite herself, Vastra enjoys the walk. She even chuckles when Jenny whispers little sarcastic jokes to her. The sky is blue, the air fresh (for once), and her dear friend is happy. When they do return, Vastra sits in the kitchen while Jenny cooks, sipping at tea, utterly content.

 

            “Everything was swimming before Tom. There is no telling what might have happened, now, but luckily the concern passed out of Aunt Polly’s face, and she…” Vastra looks up. Jenny has slumped against the side of her favorite chair, her breathing even and rhythmic. “Hm…”

Vastra marks the place in Mark Twain’s gift to American literature and sets the book on the little end table next to her own seat. Normally if they are reading together, she would make Jenny read out loud so as to improve the maid’s skill. However, tonight Vastra offered to do the reading.

            Vastra stands and straightens her skirts. _What to do about Jenny…?_ She crosses the room to Jenny’s chair, intending to nudge the maid awake.

            But she doesn’t.

            Vastra’s arm is suspended, her hand motionless just centimeters from Jenny’s shoulder. Gradually, she moves her hand—not closer to Jenny’s shoulder but centimeters above the human’s arm, her hands, her waist, back up to her neck…

            _Stop it!_ Vastra pulls away as if singed by an open flame. She whirls around, unable to look at Jenny. The Silurian glowers down at her treacherous appendage. _Jenny is your friend_ , Vastra reminds herself, _and were she aware of what you have just done, she would not appreciate the behavior._ Surely that would be disturbing to the poor mammal, even hurtful. Goodness knows it hurts Vastra…

            To trace the aura of a fellow Silurian was an intimate act, and therefore sacred considering how few of her people became truly intimate. Certainly they bred, but that did not correlate with intimacy as these apes have come to believe. And now Vastra is painfully aware of how alone she is in the world, even in the company of her companion.

            Vastra turns slowly back around to face her shame and failure as Jenny’s friend. As she stands there, watching Jenny sleep, wriggling with guilt for watching Jenny sleep, time stops for Vastra: Jenny makes a little sound and burrows deeper into her chair. For a second, Vastra cannot breathe.

            “Jenny.”

            The maid’s eyes flutter open. She looks around, realizing she must have fallen asleep. And there is Vastra, halfway between their respectively preferred chairs, watching her with that distant look she sometimes carries. “Ma’am.”

            “You fell asleep. I presume you would rather spend the night in your own quarters.”

            “Yes, ma’am, I would. Very sorry. I’ll go see to the house,” Jenny says, standing. She smiles and excuses herself.

            Vastra remains in the drawing room, staring at the chair, thinking that she will never get that close to Jenny again.


	21. Enemies

**021\. Enemies**

Summer 1887

 

            “Just because you don’t like him is not a good reason to eat him!”

            “It is a very good reason!” Vastra snaps.

            “Absolutely not, I will not tolerate it, ma’am!”

            “Or what?”

            Jenny hears it. Although Vastra is her friend, she still carries an air of superiority and a pride that might… inspire actions she might not otherwise wish to enact against Jenny. Ms. Flint is not stupid. She is familiar enough with a veiled woman that she knows a veiled threat when she hears it.

            Her anger still boiling within her, Jenny turns. “I am going for a walk, ma’am,” she says as demurely as possible. Without another word, she heads for the front door.

            “Jenny, wait.” The sound of the door slamming drowns out Vastra’s voice. She hisses, snarls, frustrated with apes and Jenny and herself.

            The maid startles some poor boy passing by as she tramps away from the townhouse. She fastens the bonnet to her head, her lips tight, her posture agitated. Nonetheless she manages to mutter the proper greetings as she passes the proper people on their proper way to something she could care less about.

            _Belligerent lizard! I’m a fool to think she would follow some moral standard. All us apes the same, that’s what she thinks. Daft, foolish girl!_ Jenny thinks. Walking helps. She does not mind the odd looks she gets for being out on her own. She gets plenty of odd looks nowadays. Being out alone at an hour slightly later than might be advisable for the average lady hardly seems like a good enough reason to be offended.

            The rhythm of her gait settles, steadies, guiding Jenny’s thoughts to even keel. In time, her pace slows until eventually she stops. Her arms uncross and she takes a deep breath. She turns her head, as if listening for home behind her, takes another breath. _We are friends_ , she thinks. _But I hardly understand Vastra at all sometimes. I just wish she’d respect me back, stop being all over the place._ It seems to Jenny as though Madame Vastra has been behaving a bit oddly since the start of this year, or maybe the spring time. It’s hard to say or define. One minute her mistress seems absolutely giddy and as good a friend as Jenny could hope to have. Then she is irritable, difficult, cold. Jenny turns to head back.

            When she is almost upon Number 13 Paternoster Row, Jenny looks up. That boy is there again.

            “Oi, you there, you lost?” she asks. The boy jumps, darts a bit then freezes as their eyes meet. He looks utterly terrified. “Sorry, sorry,” Jenny says, putting up her hands. “Didn’t mean to frighten you. You okay? You got any parents around?”

            The boy gulps, shakes his head. He keeps darting glances away, anxious to leave.

            “I won’t bite, you know,” Jenny says. _Although someone else might._ “Go on then, nothing to fear, get yourself home for the night.”

            He runs away, released from whatever spell he’d been under. Jenny enters.

            “Jenny, is that you?”

            “Yes…” Jenny calls back, hesitant to add her ubiquitous ‘ma’am.’ She isn’t in the mood to admit that Madame Vastra is her teacher at the moment.

            Vastra appears in the hallway, walking towards her. But Jenny’s eyes do not see her. Vision loses focus.

            “Jenny I… Jenny? Hello?”

            Jenny looks, sees Vastra properly. Madame Vastra hesitates, seeing some kind of concentration cross the ape’s face. “Ma’am,” Jenny says. “Have you molted recently?”

            Vastra sniffs, a little offended. “Jenny, really—“

            “Ma’am, it’s important.”

            Although she sniffs and coils, Vastra does not want to give Jenny more reason to be upset with her. “Yes.”

            Jenny’s eyes widen. She turns, reaching for the door.

            “Jenny!”

            The maid is already gone.

 _Which way did he run?_ Gut instinct carries Jenny forward, sprinting full tilt. Part of her wishes it were wintertime so she could follow snow tracks. The lad’s only had a moment or two’s head start, but in a city this size that might be all he needs.

She sees his cap bobbing away a block or two down a cross street as she barrels by. Jenny skids to a halt, goes back, makes chase. Maybe he won’t know she is coming after him and she’ll be able to catch up. But no, he sees her. At least she’s made good progress. And her advantage is with her; she both understands what it is to be little and seek out the hiding places, and she is an adult with all the strength in her legs that implies. Never mind that she’s actually trained in this tactic of tracking prey.

The youth cries out as she sprints into him from behind, pushing him into one of those hiding places.

“Let me alone!”

“Open your hands, turn out your pockets,” Jenny instructs, her forearm pressing down on his shoulders.

“All right all right all right!” Slowly he shows Jenny his pockets. Out of them fall several little scraps of a translucent, papery material. Jenny stoops down and gathers it in her hands, holding the boy in place with her eyes.

“Not very loyal, are you?”

He doesn’t answer.

“Nothing to say for yourself?”

He gulps. “Please don’t eat me!”

Jenny starts. “Eat you?”

“Or the other one? Please! They gave me food, I was just doing what they asked.”

“Asked,” Jenny repeats, dubious of that polite term. “Go on… Well, get!”

He runs.

 

            “What on Earth has gotten into that ape mind of yours, Jenny?” Madame Vastra barks when the maid returns. She had not gone so very far.

            “Human, ma’am. Listen…”

            “Why?”

            “We are friends?”

            Vastra hesitates. Jenny feels fear creep into her, just a bit of that old caution she felt around this creature, as Vastra’s blue eyes pierce into her. She will not forget the look for it is becoming more common, and Jenny has absolutely no idea what it’s about.

            For her part, Vastra sniffs, forcing down the wild racing of her heart. She replies, “Yes.”

            “There was a boy watching us, our house rather. Tonight. Maybe he’s been by before. I didn’t realize it right away, but he took this,” Jenny says, holding out the sheddings. Vastra steps back, then forward, sniffing, inspecting, frowning, utterly reptilian.

Jenny suppresses a shiver. She has long gotten over her mistress’s oddity, but so has her mistress adapted certain human manners of carriage. Seeing her so… exposed, vulnerable, utterly herself makes Jenny feel a little uneasy, as though she does not deserve such trust.

“Indeed.”

“What’s it mean?” Jenny asks.

Vastra thinks for a moment. “Someone is aware of my presence in London. Not simply my existing, but has some suspicion, accurate or not, about what I _am_. Both as a species and, most likely, as a professional. Someone does not particularly condone my existence, and I would imagine would like to have some confirmation or evidence before further actions.” She looks up. How she has made such conclusions, Jenny is uncertain. Vastra’s mind seems to jump ahead in ways Jenny can’t always follow when it comes to investigations.

“In short, my dear Jenny, it means we have enemies.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meant to be a three-parter, we'll see...


	22. Lovers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> implied mature things

**022\. Lovers**

 

Spring 1891

            Jenny wakes first, at four o’clock sharp. She blinks up at the ceiling a few times. Then she remembers what day it is and, content, goes back to sleep.

 

            A roll of thunder wakes Vastra just prior to seven in the morning. Her eyes snap open, her senses on high alert. Leaning up, she looks toward the window. She attempts to adjust the curtain with her tongue, but just snaps at it. Nonetheless, the disturbance to the fabric gives her a glimpse of the outdoors. The storm appears mild. Perfect for today. Pleased, she lies back down and returns to sleep.

 

            Again, but much later, Jenny awakens. She shifts in the bed, looking around with fuzzy sight.

            “Good morning, my dear,” Vastra coos from behind her. Jenny smiles, pressing her back closer to the front of Vastra’s body. “Did you sleep well?” Vastra asks, placing her lips on Jenny’s shoulder.

            “Mmhmm. And you, darling?” Jenny asks, starting to turn back so she can see Vastra. But her wife scoots closer still, wrapping her arms tightly around Jenny’s waist.

            “I did,” she says, offering another kiss. “And did you enjoy last night?”

            Jenny turns now, pulling her hair out of the way, and responds, “Yes, ma’am!”

            Vastra hums at her enthusiasm. Still wrapped around her, Vastra presses her forehead to Jenny’s. “I did, too.”

            Jenny smiles, bites her lip. She’s about to say something, but Vastra breathes a whiff of her, and can’t help but interrupt.

            “Will you – be – wanting breakfast – Now, really!”

            “Not if that requires your departure,” Vastra says tucking her face between the pillows and Jenny’s neck.

            “Now Vastra, if we wait until you’re very hungry you will be very grumpy, and you just might eat something you’re not supposed to,” Jenny jokes. Below her she can hear Vastra groaning a muffled “No.”

            “Very well,” Jenny says, extracting herself and throwing on her nightgown ( _Really, why do I bother putting it on?_ ) and robe.

            “Jennyyyyyyy.”

            “Should have enunciated, my dear,” Jenny teases, then dashes off.

When she returns, Vastra pretends to be in a huff. But as she places the delightful tray on Vastra’s bedside table, clambers back into bed, and reaches across Vastra for her own plate of buttered toast, bacon, and eggs sunny side up, the Silurian returns to her pleased state and examines her own plate on the tray. Boiled eggs, thick slices of warm, bloody ham, sausages. Alongside on the tray stands a cheery pot of tea.

“The paper’s under your plate,” Jenny says. Vastra places her plate on her lap and pulls the newspaper between them. Together, they eat and read.

“We might have to wash the bedspread,” Vastra comments, eyeing the crumbs from Jenny’s toast.

“Do not speak of such things,” Jenny replies through a mouth full of bread.

“At least it is not the windows.”

That earns Vastra a hearty laugh from her lover.

When they finish breakfast and tea, they toss the dirty dishes on the tray to deal with later. They talk. Just talk. Jenny tells stories, makes faces, laughs, listens. Vastra describes her assessment of the current state of literature in England. They discuss politics, theater, science (which does lead to Jenny smacking Vastra with a pillow), and swordsmanship with great enthusiasm. They even talk about Strax’s developing interest in the trains and railways of Britain; Vastra comments on the convenience of giving him time off during this high holy weekend, and Jenny mentions he decided to try visiting Glasgow this month. Eventually, a satisfied silence settles over the lovers, still lying together under the covers.

“One year,” Jenny mumbles, biting her lip again as she watches Vastra from the corner of her eye.

Her wife hums. She positions herself so that she rests her crown on Jenny’s breasts. “Indeed.”

Jenny tenderly holds her wife’s face and caresses her arm. Thunder and rain roll just outside the window. In time, Vastra shifts to her side, looks up at Jenny’s kind face, and kisses her chest, just where the human heart ought to be. She sighs happily at the touch of firm, beaded lips. Just as Jenny catches Vastra’s eye, though, that tongue flicks out from between those lips down below the beltline.

Jenny gasps, large eyes on her lover’s devious face. “You imp!”

“Always, my dear.”


	23. Family

023\. Family

Late March 1886

Jenny lies in her mistress’s bed, attempting to summon the energy to read the book in her hands. She feels so incredibly bored, yet her body still protests. This illness has affected her more than she would ever care to admit. It is odd enough that her mistress insists that Jenny stay in this bedroom for the duration of her malady—highly unorthodox for any well-to-do lady, but then Vastra is anything but orthodox—without having to just sit here with nothing to think about.  
Downstairs, there is a knock at the front door. Jenny sits up, listening carefully.  
Vastra, who had just stepped out of her bedroom to find some files from the Yard, crosses the hall to the front door. As she rarely answers the door to her house anymore, she forgets that she does not have anything hiding her countenance. She opens the door.  
A tall, scraggly man with unchecked stubble stands on the doorstep. He half removes his cap when the door opens, but stops, awe-struck. His mouth hangs open, words stuck in his throat.  
Vastra, suddenly realizing what has muted the unknown visitor, says, “What’s the matter, good man? Cat got your tongue?”  
He coughs, looks down, and starts over. “My name’s Jim Hughes, m-… Ma’am…”  
Vastra does not reply.  
He pulls a note from a worn pocket in his jacket. “My wife is sister to Ms. Jenny Flint. I understand she is in your employment, and… and has taken ill…?”  
Hearing his explanation and seeing the note from her own stationary, Vastra’s posture relaxes slightly. “Mr. Hughes. I am Madame Vastra. You are correct, Je— excuse me, Ms. Flint has been quite ill. I am certain she would be happy to see you. Do come in.”  
Jim steps inside Number 13 Paternoster Row behind Vastra, eyes bugging out at everything around him. Vastra, who has already crossed to the stairs, says, “Well?”  
“Oh.” Jim trots towards her, following Vastra up the stairs, trying to hide his stares. Vastra says nothing to him. She knocks at her own bedroom door.  
“Ma’am?” Jenny’s voice comes from within.  
“Mr. Jim Hughes is here to see you.”  
Jenny sits up straight, organizing herself to welcome her brother-in-law. “Come in.”  
Vastra opens the door for Jim and gestures for him to enter. As soon as he crosses the threshold, Vastra quietly shuts the door and retreats.  
“Good afternoon, Jim,” Jenny says as her visitor sits in a chair near the bed. She can tell he is in awe of the room around him.  
“Uh… Jenny. Is this your room?”  
Jenny chuckles. “No. It’s Madame Vastra’s. She’s been making me stay here while I’m ill.”  
“That’s…” he begins, turning to look at Jenny properly now, “unusual.”  
“That’s what I thought.”  
“She is, uh, a bit unusual herself.”  
Jenny’s shoulders sag. “No, don’t tell me she forgot her veil.”  
“I suppose yes? Jenny, why is she… uh, that is… She’s green!”  
Jenny sighs. “Yes.”  
“How’s a green woman get a place like this?”  
“She comes from a long line of Spanish nobility that are inbred,” Jenny replies sarcastically. Of course, Jim has never understood her sense of humor.  
“She looks like a… like a monster, a thing.”  
“Oi,” Jenny says, offended on behalf of her friend. “She’s no such thing! You’ve been telling your daughter stories and starting to believe them yourself, Jim.”  
“No I haven’t, and yes she does,” Jim says, irritated now. Jenny might be sick, but she has no right to talk to a man like that. “If you ask me, you should get yourself a different employer.”  
“What?” Jenny asks. A brief wave of dizziness hits her, her body telling her that this conversation is draining her energy. “This is the best job I’ve ever had, and I daresay it does the whole Flint family a great deal of good! Little Mary needs money for her doctor’s visits, don’t forget!”  
“Hey and I do just fine providing for my own daughter, so you just consider my advice a gift,” Jim growls. How dare she bring his daughter into this?  
“What are you talking about? Last I heard there was a pay cut at the yard. How are you going to support Mary and my sister and yourself like that? Jim, I am happy to help. My parents need the money, too, there’s just no sense in me leaving Madame Vastra. It’s good money!” Jenny can’t stop herself at this point.  
Jim’s temper is rising. If this were his wife, he would be shouting by now, even if she were sick. Of course, his wife would never talk back at him like this. So he just glares at Jenny’s black hair, forcing himself to imagine that it’s his wife’s thicker and curlier mane.  
“Enough, Jenny,” Jim spits. “So this… woman. She is called Madame? Is she a widow?”  
Jenny, still smarting, nods. “She doesn’t have anyone now.” It’s not a lie; Vastra is very much alone.  
“Except you,” Jim says.  
Something about his voice, something in his glare, puts Jenny on edge. She isn’t sure what he’s implying, what he’s thinking, but somewhere in her mind she hears warning bells. For some reason, she senses she needs to be careful. “Indeed.”  
What is Jim implying? Even he does not know for certain. But something about this place and Jenny’s attitude is decidedly off. There’s just too much… breaking rules, maybe. Jenny is making more than he ever has being a maid and pet, she lives better than he can ever hope to, she speaks her mind far to freely, and that woman is… just wrong. He can’t say what it is, but it’s just wrong, and it’s more wrong that neither of these two seems to see anything wrong in this whole situation. A companionship between employer and employee—green or not—that lets a girl like Jenny sleep like a queen in a palace…  
“You in there, Jim?”  
“Oh.” He’s been lost in his thoughts again. Damn woman. “Look, you well? You getting better?”  
Jenny sighs, a little relieved. They quickly breeze through her health, her parents, the last word they had received from Jim’s brother and her own brother in the Royal Navy, and other pleasantries. But it is over quickly, and Jim still looks angry. Actually, Jenny thinks, I’m not sure what he looks like. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him look like this.  
The man stands to go and puts his cap back on, glaring around the room. “Whatever you’re doing to get that… woman to treat you like this, like a- a-…” he says, “Well, you best put an end to it. I don’t know what you’re doing, but I got a feeling it isn’t right.”   
He turns and walks out the door before he can hear Jenny’s astonished, “Jim!” What the Hell was that supposed to mean? How dare he come here, to Jenny’s home, and insult everything about it? How dare he insult Madame Vastra? After everything she’s done, after all the money she’s brought to Jenny’s niece? How dare he imply that she and Vastra are somehow ‘wrong’ for being friends? Why, because she’s green?  
Then, Vastra is poking her head into the room; Jim left the door open. She seems hesitant, but asks, “Tea, Jenny?”  
“No, ma’am,” Jenny replies. “Just a bit tired.” It’s true; Jenny is beginning to feel her consciousness slip a little, exhausted by whatever just happened. She tries to smile at her mistress, her teacher, her friend. The last thing she needs is for Vastra to get offended by another ape.  
“Jenny,” Vastra says, “You are my best friend.” The way she says it is somewhat stilted and awkward. But nonetheless, it’s touching.  
“Aye, ma’am. And you are mine.”


	24. Strangers

**024\. Strangers**

 

1891

 

            Vastra has seen human hatchlings before, of course. “Children,” as Jenny corrects her. She has seen her companion interact with them before. She takes them very seriously, which Vastra sometimes struggles to understand. They are so preposterously helpless at the time of their hatching, completely dependent, it’s difficult for her to imagine how any humans reach adulthood at all. They can’t even walk, can’t even speak! The ones that are half-grown (what Vastra would expect to be a new hatchling compared to her own kind) are usually filthy and barely capable of making an intelligent sentence. And yet, as they sit at the table drinking tea to keep themselves awake long enough to share their gathered intelligence, Jenny regularly returns from the night with information that Vastra could never have gathered on her own, insisting that the children of London are the best informants for which Jenny could ever ask.

            Vastra stares down the alleyway. Through the night she can see them, hatchlings kicking a fraying leather ball between the brick walls in the moonlight, accompanied by an enthusiastic young woman in trousers. Knowing that even her Jenny cannot see her from this far away, Vastra watches her wife with curiosity.

            The game continues for a long time, the hatchlings whooping and hollering and Jenny laughing. Eventually, they are all too exhausted to continue. They have lined themselves up against one of the alley walls, sitting against it as they catch their breath.

            “So,” Vastra hears Jenny say between gasps for air, laughter just at the edge of her voice. “I have a favor to ask you lot.”

            “Always do, ma’am,” one of the little ones giggles. Vastra sniffs at hearing Jenny called “ma’am.”

            “Who’s on your watch this week?” an older boy asks.

            “Not who, what,” Jenny corrects him. “The churches around town, we think one of them is connected to the recent bank robbery.”

            “The one at—”

            “Shhhh,” Jenny says, putting a finger to her lips and another to the girl’s. “You know which one I’m talking about, no need to let any prying ears know, too.” Vastra thinks she sees Jenny glance in her direction. She freezes, but she does not think Jenny has actually seen her.

            “Just keep an eye on them for me. Let me know if anything unusual catches your eye.” Jenny stands, straightens her trousers. Around her the hatchlings twitch and laugh and share knowing glances, absolutely enthralled by the new game. “And,” Jenny adds, “as usual, watch out for each other, eh?”

            “Oi, breakfast in the morn?”

            “Same as always,” Jenny says to the gangly boy with a cap, bending down to tap his nose. Without another word, she turns, heading towards the street. Vastra backs away around the corner, embarrassed to have spent so much time observing the strange scene. Safely concealed in the shadows, she watches still as Jenny emerges from the alleyway and starts down the road away from Vastra.

            “Ma’am, are you coming?”

            Vastra’s eye widen as Jenny stops, turning her head to the side as she speaks, eyes cast low. Smiling.

            “You knew I was here,” Vastra says, emerging from her hiding place, meeting Jenny’s eyes as she comes alongside her wife.

            “Indeed.”

            Jenny swaggers off, leaving Vastra stunned by the stranger before her.

 

 

1888 (only not really)

 

            Madame Vastra lounges in bed as Jenny dons her blouse, trousers, the vest, boots. She puts up her hair, fetches her sword, checks its sharpness. Finally, sitting on the edge of the bed near her lover’s feet, she turns to Vastra.

            “Are you ready, ma’am?”

            Her face is strained, but the Silurian nods, sitting up with some considerable effort. Jenny gently runs her knuckles against the ridges along the back of Vastra’s neck. Abruptly, Vastra stands, starts to prepare herself.

 

            Their life on the Tardis has become increasingly crowded. In a way, the Victorian women find it quite charming to meet the Doctor’s many friends, from Rory the Centurion to Danny Boy to intergalactic pirates to Dorium to many more. As long as Jenny keeps out of mind the reason _why_ they are all gathering together, she enjoys the intellectual challenge of planning for their endeavor. She sits in a quiet room of the bigger-on-the-inside box with the Doctor, the Centurion, and Madame Vastra, watching them go over strategies and contributing her own ideas now and again. But her heart aches at the sight of the Centurion, his strained body and watery eyes, and she can’t help but wish they did not need to do this. When Rory returns, furious at the refusal of a trusted friend to come and give aid (and the Doctor moreso because of it), Jenny wonders and fears them. Part of her wonders if she will ever feel so strongly for Madame Vastra as they do for their friend… part of her wonders if she already does.

            Yesterday was the last pick up. Jenny remembers the underground city of steel and greenery as she watches Vastra dress. How Vastra had changed! Of course she was still herself, but Jenny could tell immediately how interacting with fellow Silurians was… different. Madame Vastra seemed to revert into the “creature” Jenny had first met four years ago… and yet hadn’t. The Silurian volunteers had a way of moving that Jenny remembered immediately, yet Vastra still carried something of a Victorian posture. (Glancing at the Centurion, Jenny could not help but notice how these slight differences in body language made him seem a great deal more comfortable in Vastra’s company than the others’.) Nonetheless, Jenny wonders at what a stranger Vastra must have been once upon a time.

 

            Finished dressing, Vastra meets Jenny’s eyes as she straps her blades to her torso. Jenny sits up, expecting some kind of command. For a moment, Vastra says nothing. Then:

            “Stay close, my dear.”

            Jenny nods. She stands, following Vastra out of their room.

            Everyone is gathered in the main console room, waiting. As the unlikely pair enter, the buzzing of murmured conversation ceases. Temporarily. Vastra steps into the room, begins greeting Silurians and others one at a time, and Jenny sighs in relief as eyes move away from them. She has no idea what anyone thinks of Vastra and her, and she does not particularly care to know.

            Suddenly, Jenny feels a hand on her shoulder. She turns. The Doctor smiles down at her, having just followed them into the room. Everyone hushes, ready to hear what the Time Lord will say as the Tardis flies their little army toward battle at Demons Run.


	25. Teammates

**025\. Teammates**

 

Early Summer 1885

 

            “Ma’am, don’t you think it’s about time you tell me how you get into these messes?”

            Madame Vastra leans on her forearms over the table in the main room of her flat while Jenny, her ape maid, stands behind her, carefully washing a gash on her back where her shoulder meets her neck. For her part, Jenny keeps her eyes on her work, neverminding that by preventing blood from sinking into the fabric of her mistress’s dress her own uniform is getting covered in the stuff. Hearing no immediate reply, Jenny mutters to herself, “We might have to do a couple stitches.”

            “Stitches?” Vastra asks.

            “Aye, ma’am. You sew the skin together again, you know? To help it heal without scarring.”

            Madame Vastra makes a sound Jenny cannot interpret. “Disgusting! You call your ape society civilized. What a foolish way medical practice.”

            Jenny allows herself a tight-lipped moment to pray for patience. Mindful of her place, she makes do with saying, “Well, ma’am, it’s all we’ve got, so it’ll have to do.” Vastra harrumphs at that but complains no more. Pressing clean bandages onto Madame Vastra’s neck, Jenny repeats herself. “Ma’am, don’t you think it’s about time you tell me how you get into these messes?”

            “Curious ape, aren’t you?”

            “A lot of us are, ma’am,” Jenny replies.

            Vastra thinks for a moment, weighing her options with this admittedly clever and helpful ape. “I have superior abilities and intelligence that enables me to hunt down wanted apes and deliver them to your police force.” She can sense Jenny thinking this over.

            “You’re a bounty hunter?”

            “That is not exactly how I would describe my manner of employment.”

            “Of course not, ma’am. But are you a bounty hunter?”

            “Ow! You-!”

            “Ma’am, I just said you needed a couple of stitches.”

            “And what qualifies an ape like yourself to administer such foul medicine upon me?” the creature hisses.

            “Would you rather go to someone else?” Jenny’s calm voice replies.

            Vastra sniffs, angry as a pubescent hatchling. “I do not have much choice in the matter.”

            “And I am very sorry for that, ma’am.” _She sounds sorry_ , Vastra thinks, a little surprised. “But if you trust me enough to keep from stabbing you in your sleep, and you trust me enough to tell me you’re a bounty hunter—”

            “Detective.”

            “—then I think you can trust me enough to do a little mending.”

            “Ow!”

            “There. We’ll tie it off, and keep it clean, and you’ll be all fixed in no time,” Jenny says. She steps over to where Vastra can see her. The ape’s face is blank—or at least it seems so to Vastra—which makes what she says next particularly striking. “We’re teammates now, ma’am. As we said on the streets when I was little, I’ve got your back and you got mine.” With that, she sticks her hand—paw?—out in front of Vastra. Having witnessed various apes perform this gesture before, the mistress of the home cautiously extends her own hand, which Jenny takes and shakes once. “Partners.”

            “Partners.”


	26. Parents

**026\. Parents**

 

1877

 

            “No no no no!”

            The three children, tripping over each other as they try to stop their sprinting, eye the fence with horror. Their pile slides through the muck of London’s alleyways until the smack into the fence.

            “Get off me!”

            “Pratt!”

            “Oi both you shut up!” the girl hisses as the two boys untangle themselves. They look over their shoulders. “Come on,” she says, running at the corner made by the wall and the fence. She leaps and manages to get her hands over the top of the fence. Kicking against the fence, she pulls herself up, looks back. “Well hurry up!” The boys follow suit.

            Once on the other side, the kids share a little chuckle before they keep running. They duck from one alley to another, cross busy streets, under carts, through to other alley ways, until they are all thoroughly convince that they have succeeded. The three of them sit, laughing through their gasps for air, and one by one pull out their spoils. Together, they feast.

 

            When Jenny gets back, she knows something’s wrong as soon as she enters the flat. She can hear her mother crying.

            “Jenny?” her older sister says. Jenny looks up at her as she crosses the little flat from sitting by their mother.

            “What’s going on?”

            She licks her lips, squats down to look at the ten-year-old. “Jenny, Vicky is sick.”

            “She’s got a cold?”

            “No dear. It’s a lot worse. You go stay with Mrs. Tickle, eh? Until I come get you.”

            “What’s going to happen to Vicky?”

            The fifteen-year-old doesn’t speak.

            “Mary, what’s going to happen?”

            “I’ll come check on you tomorrow.” Without any further explanation, Jenny is shoved out the door.

 

            Mary holds Jenny’s hand as they walk home from the church. On the way, she sees the two boys watching the family in black from behind a cart nearby. Glancing up at her sister, she shakes her head at them and they depart. As they continue walking, Jenny tries to count how many little sisters she used to have. She thinks four. Vicky had made it to two at least. But in another year, her little brother should be six, maybe. So that’s good. And her mother has another one on the way. Jenny thinks it will be a sister.

 

            “Hurry up!”

            “It’s not easy, so shut it!” Jenny hisses. She concentrates on the feel of her hairpin in the door’s lock. “Keep watch!”

            “Constable!” the other boy calls out. He comes running around the corner of the store to the others. “We need to ditch! He’s coming this way!”

            “Got it!” Jenny whispers triumphantly as the door swings open. The children stare up at the bounty before them. “Come on. Not too much, we’ll just play rats.”

            They reach in, taking bread and apples and cheese and sugar and more, stuffing their pockets and shirts.

            “Hey, you lot!”

            Jenny gasps, looking over her shoulder. A constable is barreling toward them.

            “Run!”

            She does not have to be told twice. They all dart from the shop’s pantry for a hole in a nearby face.

            “Come back here you rats!” The constable reaches through the hole, but just misses Jenny’s skirts.

            “That’s right!” Jenny beams. They dash away. But next thing the little team knows, the constable has clambered over the fence and is following them.

            “Oh no, look!”

            Jenny sees they’re trapped now. Up ahead is a wall. A door is set in the wall, though. Maybe it’s open!

            “Locked! Jenny, can you—?”

            “Out of the way!” she shouts, already jamming her hairpin into the lock.

            “Come on come on come on!” the boys shriek.

            “Almost…” But Jenny feels a large hand grab her shoulder.

 

            “Genevieve Lynn Flint!”

            Jenny ducks her father’s hands, yelping. He roars at her, tossing the table under which she’d darted, grabbing her arm and wrenching her forward.

            “Ahh! Papa, no!”

            “What have you got to say for yourself, you little runt?” her father shouts into her ear. She grimaces at its closeness, shrieks each time he yanks on her arm. “You think we just got pounds sitting in a bank to get you out of trouble? Your worth less than you cost!”

            “I was just hungry!”

            “Just hungry? You know how much money we shove down your throat every day?” He slaps her. Jenny lifts her unconstrained hand to her stinging face. “Just hungry don’t go breaking in to pantries, do it? Oi, look at me, you little rat!”

            “Papa,” Mary pipes from across the room. The baby cries, their mother cradles the little boy, and Mary looks very small to Jenny despite being the tallest one in the room.

            “Shut up!” he roars. He turns back, glaring at the child trapped in his grasp. “It’s time you start helping this family.

 

            Jenny’s first job is as a match girl.


	27. Children

**027\. Children**

 

Early 1889

 

            _I walk along the upstairs hall. I hear laughter. I turn into our bedroom. Only it is not my bedroom shared with Vastra, but the library. The Silurian sits in the middle of a pile of books._

_“Leia Elizabeth Flint,” I say. Oh, so it isn’t Vastra. “Just what do you think you are doing?”_

_“Reading, Mama,” Leia replies, her face hidden by the book she has pressed to her nose. Leia is my daughter. She has green scales and a little nose and buckle shoes and brown eyes._

_“Come along, now,” I say. “Time for dinner.” Of course, yes, dinner. The child stands up and runs toward the door. I turn._

_I am sitting in the drawing room, cradling something. I pull back the cloth. A warm, pink, happy baby—I suddenly know this is my child—with thick black hair and blue eyes and a forked tongue smiles up at me. Strax is nearby, offering lactic fluid._

_“I’m fine, Strax, thank you,” I say. Then Strax is not there, but Vastra is next to me, looking over my shoulder at the tiny little face._

_“He looks very brave,” she says. Ah, so the child is a boy. My son. So two children, they aren’t the same. Why does Vastra think he looks brave?_

_“He looks like you,” I say. Vastra laughs. I laugh, too._

_Leia is running in the conservatory, squealing among the flowers. Vastra is grabbing our son’s arm. She is reprimanding him. He must learn to control that tongue of his. Blue eyes and blue eyes. My son’s name is George Matithai Flint. Flint, yes. Of course._

_I am in the nursery where my children sleep. George must still sleep in a cradle. Leia sits on Vastra’s knee, listening to whispered stories that she needs to remember because she needs to know who and what she is. Vastra is standing next to me at the door. She smiles down at me._

_We are standing in a garden. Not Paternoster Row. We are older. I know this, although I cannot see the details that tell me so. Not far away, Strax is playing badminton with two young adults. A young man with black hair flicks his tongue. A tall, elegant young woman—a Silurian with no venomous tongue—is beating the boys at the game. Vastra holds me close._

_“Jenny…”_

_“Yes?”_

“ _Jenny_ … Jenny?”

 

Jenny blinks in surprise. She is lying in bed, the bed that only recently became her own alongside a reptilian woman. It is the middle of the night. Vastra lies facing her, blue eyes piercing through Jenny’s sleepiness. Her lover is so close to her own body, wrapped around Jenny like a leather glove.

“Jenny, my dear,” Vastra says, sounding a little amused, “You were dreaming.”

“I was,” Jenny says, her mind racing to gather what bits she can still recall.

Vastra flicks her tongue out briefly, tasting the air. “What about?”

“Oh… I don’t remember, ma’am,” Jenny lies. “Let’s go back to sleep.”


	28. Death

**029\. Death**

 

July 1886

 

            Vastra has not eaten a meal at Paternoster Row for a few days, and yet it is Jenny who seems to be in foul spirits. The maid stands about idly, glowering at nothing in particular, glaring at herself in the mirror and at the tea things when Vastra requests a cuppa. At first, Vastra thought it would be best for her to allow for the change of spirits, leaving Jenny to her thoughts after… But now, Vastra begins to think perhaps she has left the ape alone a little too long for her own good.

            “Yes, ma’am?” Jenny asks, standing in the drawing room that evening, coming at Vastra’s call.

            “What troubles you, Jenny?” she asks finally, her chin resting on her fingertips as she considers the maid.

            “I…” Jenny blinks. “I should think that would be… plain, ma’am.”

            “I have my suspicions, yes,” Vastra nods, looking away from Jenny’s face for a moment. “But nonetheless I believe you have the ability to speak your mind without my aid. So speak.”

            Jenny fidgets. “I… I killed a man.”

            Vastra watches another moment. “Jenny, sit,” she suggests. Jenny does so across from Vastra. “Now then. When I began training you, did you not think such events might _not_ come to pass eventually?”

            For a minute or two, Jenny thinks. Vastra remains silent, unperturbed by the thick air around them. “I suppose I knew… in a way.”

            “What way?”

            “You know,” Jenny says, “The way you think ‘I will be wed one day,’ or ‘I might bear a child,’ or ‘Perhaps I shall cook stew next week.’ Not as something very… solid.”

            “You have seen me kill.”

            “Aye, and regret it,” Jenny responds, placing a hand to her stomach as though repressing a reflex. Vastra tilts her head at the remark.

            “You permitted me to act as I did this week.”

            “Yes,” Jenny says, standing again, fidgeting. “And he deserved it… But…” She looks back at Vastra. “But who am I to decide a man’s fate?” She looks away again, down at her hands. “Who am I to decide who lives and dies? By what authority?”

            Instantly, a response forms in Vastra’s mind. It is at her teeth in a moment when she stops herself. Suddenly it hits her: Her reasoning is entirely based on her Silurian context. Vastra had not simply been a warrior, she was of an ancient tribe of warriors (even by her species’ standards). Furthermore, she had been trained to exercise justice on those warriors who broke ranks and disturbed the peace of the Silurian species. However, such an authority had no standing among these apes. They knew nothing of her great civilization, much less the role she played in it. All this time, Vastra had been assuming, unconsciously, that she had some inherent worth above that of this society of apes. But did she really?

            Vastra realizes she has not responded to Jenny. The ape sighs. As Jenny departs, Vastra cannot help but watch her. She had not expected death to affect her dear friend so, nor had she expected her dear friend to affect her own self-assuredness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will make more sense later.


	29. Sunrise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MATURE! THERE ARE MATURE THINGS!

**030\. Sunrise**

 

1890

 

“Jenny… please. Be my wife?” Vastra presses her face into the seated maid’s apron, unable to look at those shocked brown eyes another second.

“Vastra, I…”

To Vastra, the pause feels like an eternity, like millions of years in a claustrophobic case so far beneath the press of the Earth’s crust that there really is no promise of seeing sunlight again, only feeble hope.

“I will.”

“What?” Vastra’s head snaps up from Jenny’s lap, her eyes wide. Around them, the sun rises, and Vastra can literally smell the plants in her conservatory rising with it, lifting her terrified heart with them. There, at the center of her vision, moisture fills Jenny’s eyes, and she smiles in a way that reminds Vastra of the first time they held each other as lovers.

“Oh God,” Jenny breathes as she slips from the wicker chair down to the floor, practically sitting in her mistress’s lap. She pulls Vastra’s face to her own. She cries—or is it a laugh?—and kisses Vastra. “Yes!” she breathes. She kisses her again and again, whispering her answer between each touch. It is happening so fast that Vastra just sits there, dumbfounded for however long it takes for her brain to catch up. Once it does, though, she’s pulling, grasping, moaning at Jenny—who makes the most fantastic little sound of surprise, who giggles and cries and smiles and keeps saying that most magnificent word, who smells like wilderness and home, who playfully dodges Vastra’s passionate reciprocity of affections by ducking her own lips to Vastra’s neck and jaw and—

There’s a knock at the distant front door. They hear it open slightly.

            “Ladies?” the Doctor calls. “Jenny? Should Strax and I—?”

            “Get out!” they shout in unison. The door quickly slams shut again. They laugh, turning to look at each other again. Morning light dances across Jenny’s bright eyes. Vastra feels a new tug at her heart: Jenny still can’t stop giggling. She looks like she wants to say something but cannot manage to get the words out.

            “Well say something, dear,” Vastra says. She realizes then that she, also, is smiling uncontrollably.

            “I… How?”

            “Ah, yes, you are wondering about the logistics. I am assured by our friend, the Doctor, that a perfectly sound and—”

            “A-bup-bup-bup!” Jenny interrupts, covering Vastra’s mouth with her fingers. “Changed my mind, don’t tell me none of that.” Before Vastra can say anything more, Jenny presses her mouth against her _fiancée’s_ lips, teasing at them with her tongue and little nibbles.

It is now Vastra’s turn to feel surprised and suddenly, inexplicably timid. She searches for something to say, something to ease the quickly rising heat in and around her since she had not quite prepared herself for such a positive reaction. “Were we really,” she begins, separating her mouth from Jenny as best she can, “gone for five days?”

            “Yes!” Jenny says, pulling back herself, suddenly looking cross. Vastra regrets her statement immediately. “And I’m still not happy with you about that.”

            “Ah.”

            “How long were _you_ away?” Jenny asks.

            “I… am not quite certain, my dear.”

            “Uh huh,” Jenny says, looking ever so unimpressed. “Guess.”

            “Less than two weeks?”

            “Oh, you are terrible,” Jenny says. Vastra cannot be sure if Jenny is flirting or if she is in actual trouble.

            “I missed you.”

            “You’d better have.”

            “You will forgive me, my dear?”

            “That depends.”

            Vastra waits. Hearing no continuation, she obliges with the obvious question. “On what, pray tell?”

            “On how hard you work at apologizing, darling.”

            _Flirting, definitely flirting_.

 

            It is no simple task for two people to leave a room, cross a hallway, climb the stairs, cross another hall, and enter a bedroom in a romantic manner. Somehow, Madame Vastra and Jenny Flint are capable of the endeavor. Jenny slams the door shut, and before she can turn round to face her lover, Vastra is pressing her against the door, wrapping her arms around Jenny and practically beating her with kisses. Her lips on the back of Jenny’s neck are rough, and Jenny absolutely loves it. Still, she can’t see, and that simply will not do. So she manages to shove Vastra off for a split second, just enough time to turn around before she attacks Jenny once again. Already, Vastra pulls at the apron, works at the pins in her hair. Jenny laughs, delighted, and pulls Vastra face to hers. Their hands set to unbuttoning each other’s dresses.

            Vastra, losing her patience, finally rips Jenny’s dress off her. In much the same way go her underskirts. Thankfully, though, Vastra manages to restrain herself from tearing apart Jenny’s final undergarments. Instead, she grabs Jenny’s arse, lifts, and instinctually Jenny wraps her legs around Vastra’s waist and clings to her shoulders, gasping.

            “Bed,” Vastra breathes between kisses, making to carry Jenny away.

            “Too far,” Jenny replies darkly. Expertly shifting her weight, Vastra is pulled down to the floor by Jenny’s maneuvers. Jenny laughs, still holding tight to Vastra on top of her, quick to caress her darling lover as they lay in the warm, sunlit room. But as Vastra lifts herself up onto her hands and knees, she pauses. Seeing this, Jenny stifles a proud little chuckle, dares to look Vastra right in the eye as the woman who is decidedly more clothed between the two of them ogles her.

            “Jenny… Do you really, truly want this?”

            “Vastra.”

            “I do not want you to feel… forced, in any way, into an arrangement between us. Our relationship is complicated, I would admit. If—”

            “Vastraaaa!” Jenny groans. “Yes! A thousand, _million_ yeses! Ask me every day from today to the end of things, and I will answer the same. Now don’t make _me_ beg!”

            “You’ll really marry me?” Vastra asks, leaning down. Jenny sighs contentedly at the touch of scaled lips against her cheek. Vastra’s kisses always amaze her, how they could be soft and rough, tender and forceful all at once.

            Jenny’s hands reach between the fabric of Vastra’s loose, falling-off dress and her body, gently pressing the clothing away. As she cups each of Vastra’s breasts, Jenny catches those blue eyes in her tender gaze, appreciating the little hitch in Vastra’s breath. “Yes.”

Vastra smiles.

            Together, they edge off the rest of Vastra’s dress and pull each other out of their undergarments. But as Jenny moves to embrace Vastra again, her lover speaks. “I have something for you.” Vastra pulls her dress back, searching for one of the hidden pockets. Jenny rests on her elbows, still constrained underneath Vastra’s body. Then, “Aha!” Vastra says, and pulls out a tiny little can of sorts, for lack of a name.

            “What is it?” Jenny asks.

            “No, inside. Here,” Vastra says, holding the contraption in front of Jenny’s exposed chest. Watching Vastra, Jenny takes hold of the thing and lies down again, examining it. Vastra watches Jenny’s hands, reminding Jenny very much of a cat having caught sight of a bird. So she lifts the lid off the cylindrical thing and peers within. Her brow furrows and her eyes widen. Carefully, she shakes the can until into her hand falls a ring of bronze, a little green gem embedded in it.

            “This is where I went,” Vastra says, trying to explain quickly. “According to the Doctor, rings are used as signs of affection by your kind, especially for marriages. So we found one. You can put it on when we are actually… wed. Rings were not very common among my people, of course, but we found one by going back many generations from my own—”

            “Vastra,” Jenny said, staring at the little thing. “You and the Doctor went back in time to find this? … For me?”

            Vastra looks back and forth from her intended to the little shining object. Jenny, keeping her eyes on the woman above her, returns the ring to its container and yanks Vastra back down to her. At this, Vastra hums happily, letting her hands wander all over her dear Jenny. For her part, Jenny wraps as much of herself around Vastra and her scales as she can manage. Before long, though, a rough, long tongue is traversing her body: tickling her jaw and ear, winding around her nipples, caressing her stomach and hips and thighs. Jenny moans, then tenses, tightens her legs around Vastra’s hips.

            The look in Vastra’s eyes is inscrutable. It’s one Jenny cannot say she’s seen before, yet it is something she hopes to see many times henceforth as a certain tongue and certain hands push her from one ecstasy to the next, reducing Jenny to screaming pleasure.

            Apology accepted.


	30. Too Much

**032\. Too Much**

 

Early 1886

 

            _Fine warrior, my arse!_

            For weeks now, Jenny had been under Vastra’s wing, and at this point, she’s fairly certain she’ll die from the stress of it. She pants heavily, sweat dripping from her forehead to the ground beneath her.

            “Keep at it,” Vastra orders from the cellar stairs. “You are not done yet.”

            “I can count, ma’am,” Jenny replies, her arms shaking under her weight as she lifts her planked body once more.

            “Do not be insolent with me.” Vastra’s voice is full of venom as she steps up from her seat on the stairs and into the cellar, their make-shift training arena. Jenny doesn’t look up, a little frightened. Somehow she doubts breaking her form would be very pleasing at the moment either. “That is your _only_ warning, Jenny, am I understood?”

            “Yes, ma’am.” _That was a stupid thing to do!_ she berates herself.

            “Good. Now add twenty more to what you were to do in this set.”

            “Yes, ma’am.”

            Ten sets before training each day at dawn, and one set is challenging enough. One hundred up-downs (A miserable device of torture, an up-down involved jumping in place—knees to chest—, bending at the waist until her hands reached the ground, then extending her legs back in one fluid motion, bringing them back, and standing once more.), fifty sit ups, thirty push-ups. Well, fifty of those this set now. The first day of training—Christmas Day! The mistress would not rest even a day after her return from abroad—had been so excruciating, Vastra had to excuse Jenny after the sets, before any proper training had begun. Jenny had worked hard all of her life, but nothing compares to this.

            “Done!” she proclaims and collapses to the ground. Who cares what it smells like?

            “Stand up. Only vermin rest in the dirt.”

            “Yes… ma’am…” Jenny stands, every muscle in her body protesting.

            Vastra is already standing in front of her. “Proper posture is the only efficient way to return oxygen to the bloodstream. If you are out of breathe, stand up straight.”

            “Yes, ma’am,” Jenny answers, gasping.

            “Breathe in through your nose.”

            “Yes.”

            “If you wish to be trained to fight properly, you must trust me. You must respect me, your teacher, and the art.”

            Jenny nods, eyes down.

            “The rules of class and rank out there, in the ape world, do not apply in my house. Upstairs, you are my employee, yes, but you have just as much dignity as a living thing as I have… Even if you are an ape. But here, in training, you are my student and I your teacher. Equality can be earned by a student over time, but disrespect towards a master warrior is never tolerated. Do not mistake bad attitude for spirit.”

            Jenny is breathing more steadily now. She nods, “Yes, ma’am. I apologize.”

            “Accepted. Now show me the form you learned yesterday.”

            Jenny froze.

            “Well?”

            “Ma’am.” With a deep breath, Jenny stepped into a front stance. Step by step, she moved, pausing as Vastra observed, occasionally commenting on an improvement to be made. It was a fairly simple form, the most basic form that Vastra could remember from her own days in training, but she recognized for a beginner the stilted nature of a form was difficult. Soon, with Jenny’s body becoming stronger each day, the motions would become more fluid, the stance would be second nature, and she would be able to add more complicated strikes and blocks to her repertoire. For now, this would do.

            “Again. Remember, keep your feet straight and wide; it will strengthen the stance and you will have more balance.”

            Jenny repeats the form several times. Vastra then has her march from one end of the cellar to another, practicing the basic blocks, then strikes, then kicks she had been taught. Unarmed techniques first, to train the body and the mind. From her seat near the stairs, she watches. In time, Jenny would become used to the strain. Indeed, this human is learning quickly.

 

            A month passes since Vastra’s return from the East and the first month of 1886 has almost come to a close. As she learns more techniques, trainings become longer. Vastra insists that Jenny practice everything she knows each morning after her sets. Vastra watches, correcting momentary forgetfulness and commenting on sloppiness. Soon Jenny’s posture is noticeably improved, even in her work around the house. The way she moves changes as well. Yes, Vastra sees her grimace at aches occasionally, but the human pays more attention to where her body is in space, and others’ bodies around her as well. She is beginning to understand.

            Jenny knows Vastra is plotting something she joins Jenny in her last three sets. For the next hour, she practices the strikes, blocks, and kicks with Jenny as well, always watching for technique.

            “There,” Vastra says, flicking her tongue out and in a few times. Rarely has Jenny seen that tongue in action, so she immediately feels on edge at the sight of it. “Jenny, stand across from me.”

            “Yes, ma’am.” Jenny stands at attention, controlling her breathing.

            “Do not look so afraid. Now, today you will start her to learn basic forms with a hardwood sword—a bokken—to practice moving with the weight of a blade. However, it is first time for you to learn unarmed sparring techniques.” Vastra looked Jenny over. “We shall need to acquire a more suitable uniform for you soon.”

            “It’s a good working dress, ma’am. It’s held up so far.”

            “Not much longer, I’m afraid. No matter for today. I want you to think up three techniques you know thus far, any three. Start with a strike. I want you to use them against me, advancing one step with each technique. Do you understand?”

            Jenny thinks, choosing the three she will use. “Yes, ma’am.”

            “Go slowly. You will not be able to land a strike against me no matter how hard you try, so you might as well practice technique.”

            Jenny nods.

            “Begin.” A knife-hand strike, a front kick, and a front punch. As Jenny steps forward, Vastra steps back. “Three offensive moves. Very well. Did you see how I moved my legs? It’s exactly how you change your stances through a form, you see? Maintaining strength and balance. Did you see how I blocked your advances?” Vastra returns the exact same blows, and Jenny steps backward—a little clumsily—using the blocks she observed her mistress use.

            “Good. A very good start. We’ll do those three a few more times, then I will assign you some moves. There are certain combinations that build off each other. The body can maintain momentum between movements if they are organized well, leading to stronger attacks and blocks. Again.” They continue. Jenny is steadier with each repetition as her muscles memorize the motions. “You will find,” Vastra says as they dance, forward and back, occasionally in circles, through the cellar, “that sparring barehanded will train you how to handle a weapon. In time, you will learn to watch the four corners—What are they?”

            “The shoulders and each hip, ma’am,” Jenny answers, stepping back into a block.

            “Yes. You will learn to see your opponent’s intentions by the position of these key points. But you must also watch the face. Many poorly trained warriors will reveal even more with their eyes, a twitch, or a frown, if you watch carefully.”

            Two hours of sparring practice took a far heavier toll on Jenny’s stamina than the sets and technique practice had. By the end of it all, her legs were shaking and she felt glad that her dress could hide that fact. In another month, she would hate how the trousers her mistress would make her wear revealed her weakness. For now, she simply stares at the wooden sword Vastra is holding out for her to take.

            “Ma’am,” Jenny says, “I think I will drop it.”

            “Nonsense. Now take your weapon.”

            Jenny knows she cannot disobey. Upstairs, doing the things a normal maid might do in a fine home like this one, Jenny can be fairly familiar with her mistress. She is given all sorts of allowances a young woman in her position would never get away with in the service of a more traditional employer. But down here, she did not dare challenge the woman she knew now to be far superior than any member of the Empire’s finest military professionals.

            She takes the sword. Vastra shows Jenny basic strikes and blocks that mirror the first techniques she has now mastered. After several repetitions, Vastra demonstrates how the very first form Jenny ever learned can incorporate a blade—forward thrusts instead of punches, slashes instead of knife-hand strikes, parries instead of blocks—and has Jenny practice only three times.

            “Once you’ve stretched, go and wash up. I believe it is nearly nine in the morning, you may take an hour after bathing to rest before attending to your work. You have done very well today, Jenny.”

            “Thank you, ma’am!” Jenny smiles through her panting. How about that, a complement! Jenny hurries upstairs ( _Curse stairs_ ) and scrubs herself down as quickly as possible. She falls asleep as soon as she sits on her little bed.

 

            By early March, the sparring has become more exciting.

            “Don’t spin like that, you’re wasting valuable energy!” Vastra shouts, easily blocking Jenny’s downward slash. “And – what – did – Zoza – use – to – trick – his – foes – into – surrender?”

            “The Trickster’s – Suicide – ma’am!” Jenny replies, careful to maintain her footing as Vastra attacks. “Set – fire – to – a building – in the encampment! Made them – think – his – forces – had – given up – turned on – each – other.”

            “Correct! You are learning – Silurian – battle history – and – technique – well.” They pause, bokkens crossed. Simultaneously, they withdraw their weapons, salute, and bow towards each other. “Tonight, you will join me,” Vastra says, placing her weapon back in its stand.

            “What?”

            “Just to observe, it’s time you learn how to apply what you’re learning about technique. You have endured an extremely accelerated training program thus far, Jenny, but we cannot advance you any further without observations.”

            “But ma’am,” Jenny begins, still standing at attention, “I haven’t used a real blade yet. I’m not ready.”

            “Indeed not, but that has not impeded your learning yet.”

            “It’s too much, ma’am! I can’t do it!” Jenny feels like she might cry. She does not want to cry, not down here and in training no less, but how can she make Vastra understand? She never thought she would be doing these things at all in her life, never even imagined anything like it. But for all she’s gained in strength and ability in a few short months, Jenny senses that all she has actually learned is her comparative ineptitude in respect to her mistress.

            Vastra looks at Jenny, measuring her up in her trousers, blouse, and vest. The ape no longer trembles after each training session; her body has clearly toughened under newfound discipline. “Fine.”

            “Ma’am?”

            “Fine. You can’t. Do it anyway.”

            Jenny looks surprised, then confused. “Ma’am, I’m sorry, I don’t understand you.”

            “Jenny,” Vastra says, bending her neck slightly so that her eyes meet Jenny’s, “You will be told you cannot do anything for the entirety of your life. This is a truth. It is truth whether you live in squalor, in comfort, or at the height of a truly great civilization millions of years ago. You will be told ‘you cannot’ more than enough times to suffice without adding to the chorus yourself. Others might present long-winded reasons against what you choose or want or do, but with all those words, don’t you suspect they might be lying to you? So when you cannot do something, do it anyway.”

            The human looks mystified. She nods, still trying to understand what her mistress is trying to tell her. Vastra reaches out her gloved hand and grasps the ape’s shoulder, briefly, trying to comfort in her stiff manner. Ah, but Jenny likes her mistress’s stiff manner. She smiles a little.

            “At ease. Do your stretches,” Vastra commands, releasing the mammal. She begins to stretch herself, flicking her tongue to release a little heat, as Jenny puts away her practice sword.

Jenny takes a position and holds it, easing her legs into it. She does not see Vastra watching her, glancing over Jenny’s body with curiosity, perhaps even admiration.


	31. Not Enough

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love this one.

**033\. Not Enough**

 

Summer 1886

 

            It started that night in the summer of 1885, Vastra decides. She stares at her reflection in her bedroom mirror. For a while, she thought it had been the Christmas of that year, when Jenny surprised her with a conservatory full of tropical plants, but no, it had to have been prior to that. After all, even that Christmas Eve, Vastra had felt slightly nervous in the presence of the ape-girl.

It had to have started that summer.

            Vastra remembered the night, picturing it again. Chasing after what she had presumed to be simpleton crooks, she found herself surrounded by apes that were, in fact, members of one of London’s most notorious gangs. As she had yet to procure any proper weapon for herself at the time, she had thought she made a rather good escape under the circumstances. By the time she had returned to her apartment, however, the wound in her leg from their primitive gun and the slash at her shoulder were shown to be far more serious than Vastra had estimated.

            And there was Jenny. Vastra smiles, remembering the young ape’s insults—and concern—when she saw Vastra’s state. Something bubbles up in Vastra’s chest at the memory of Jenny pulling up her skirts to clean and bandage her thigh, shot through. Jenny’s collected calm as she tended to Vastra: that’s what convinced her that these apes were perhaps more civilized than her first assessment. That they were capable of more…

            Vastra snorts. She has been staring into space again, wasting time. _This is preposterous_ , she reminds herself. _An ape! Disgusting! Very useful, yes. She has proven herself strong and loyal, worthy of the martial arts of my people. She has an excellent character. And yes, she is aesthetically pleasing. Jenny has been bred with very good proportions, even my sisters would agree with that. A little short perhaps, but considering humans seem to breed without concern for optimal genetic acquisition, she is very aesthetically pleasing. Good… proportions… But good grief, do not obsess!_

            “Ma’am! The bath’s ready now,” Jenny calls from the nearest washroom. Vastra hisses at herself and turns to go bathe. She walks right into Jenny as the maid is trying to leave the room. “Oh!” Jenny exclaims. “So sorry, ma’am. Please excuse me.”

            “You are excused,” Vastra hisses, entering the room. But as she watches Jenny go, a voice deep within her whimpers, _Stay_. “Oh shut up,” she says to herself, closing the door. “Deplorable. Even if I wanted her to stay here, what an abuse of power over an employee. Vastra, stop talking!” Irritated, Vastra removes her robe and bed gown and gets into the tub with a splash. She scowls at her knees. _Old fool. You’re too lonely for your own good_.

            There had been other things, however. Little moments that endeared her maid to Vastra. Jenny dancing in the rain like a hatchling. Jenny getting sick, more ill than she had ever seen anyone become (and then getting better, thanks to an old friend). Jenny working so hard to learn from Vastra, even when any sensible Silurian student would have protested. Even now, the human was pouring over Vastra’s notes on proper swordsmanship. Jenny bandaging her up whenever she came home injured. Jenny never flinching at the sight of her face in a sea of inhospitable apes. Jenny reading to her. Jenny’s hair. Jenny stretching after a training session. Jenny’s muscles rippling in the moonlight, sweat on her brow glimmering like jewels. Jenny giving Vastra lip for an unreasonable request. Jenny apologizing when she’s wrong. Jenny teaching her about human society. Jenny always willing to help. Jenny smiling. Jenny.

            “Stop it!” Vastra hisses at herself. _Stop it right now! You cannot like this_ ape _! Not in that way! It is a dishonorable, foolishly sentimental regard for the descendent of immature, furry primates. To continue like this would dishonorable to myself, to my sisters, to my profession, and to my species! Fine as a friend, but I simply cannot—_

            Ah, but there it is. Vastra steps back from her own thoughts, observes them. It is true that her people would not have approved millions of years ago… but that was millions of years ago. And she, Vastra, is lying to herself. The truth can be determined simply. _Do I cherish this woman? Yes._ There. And her people had very clear value placed on such sentimentality.

By Vastra’s time, they had moved to breeding programs for the majority of offspring production. Two Silurians falling in love was rare and precious. Whether the couple was a breeding pair or not was beside the point. Anyone with an ape-sized brain could see how important such a connection became for the individuals, and their entire community. It would be hypocritical, sacrilegious even, should Vastra throw away affection so flippantly… even that for a human. Vastra sinks into the tub a bit, letting the water rise over her chin and mouth. _Do I cherish this woman?_ she asks herself again, hoping for a different answer.

            “Yes.” _And not simply as a friend._

Vastra is no fool, though. She knows plenty about this “European” society she finds herself stuck in. Among the English apes, a pair capable of producing offspring, male and female, is the only acceptable form of courtship. The few humans that dare to attempt deviation from this path are met with a cruelty that Vastra cannot understand. Therefore, Jenny is off limits.

            She sits up in the tub, one arm on the edge. Thinking in this manner will not improve Vastra’s mood, she knows. “It’s not enough,” Vastra whispers to herself. “Not enough.”

 

 

Early 1888

 

            “I’m going mad,” Jenny says. “I haven’t a clue why,” she adds.

            “The mistress perhaps?” suggests the flower vendor from Jenny’s favorite market. The young woman—younger than even Jenny herself—has become a friend of sorts, and Jenny loves her rather eccentric taste in hats. Today she bears a straw contraption that blends into her blonde hair. It seems a bit summerish, rather optimistic considering today’s crisp air, but she has blooming flowers to sell so perhaps Jenny should keep her opinions to herself.

            “Aye, definitely the mistress. But not the normal way.”

            “In what way, then, Ms. Flint?”

            “I can’t explain it. I’m terrified of her, but at the same time I look forward to seeing her.”

            “That is mad. But so long as she’s paying up and not beating you, she can’t be all that bad of a mistress, eh?”

            Jenny shakes her head in agreement. She trades a coin for the bouquet of crocuses and snowdrops, and she takes her leave of the vendor. The flowers are not expressly part of Jenny’s errands today, but another aspect of her madness is a taste for the whimsical; the purple and cream-colored petals would hopefully satisfy. By the time they reach a vase at home, Jenny knows they will do no such thing.

            _What is wrong with me?_ Jenny thinks. She catches herself daydreaming about nothing in particular. She can’t focus on duties around the house. Her work assisting her mistress’s consultations with Scotland Yard seems to be accelerating at the same time it seems as though she is making foolish mistakes. Jenny is distracted. Constantly. And she is increasingly annoyed with herself for it.

            Vastra comes into the kitchen unannounced, looking for something when she sees Jenny. “My dear, what’s wrong?”

            “Nothing, ma’am,” Jenny lies. “You just startled me.” She looks down, wishing Vastra would leave

            “My apologies. Have you seen the McKenzie report around here?”

            “Sorry, ma’am, which report?”

            “McKenzie.”

            “Ah I… No. No, I think I haven’t, ma’am.”

            “Very well,” Vastra says, taking one last glance back before she exits.

            And now Jenny wishes her mistress had stayed. She glares at the flowers like it’s their fault Jenny is losing her mind. Perhaps she just needs some sleep. “Ma’am…” she calls, following after Vastra.

            “Yes?”

            “I was wondering, that is if it isn’t too much trouble, ma’am, I think I might go to bed early tonight.”

            “Oh?”

            “I’m just feeling a bit tired is all, ma’am.”

            Vastra smiles kindly. “Of course, Jenny. You do not need my permission, of course. Perhaps you are right—rest would do us both some good. It has been a bit cold for my liking today, anyway.”

            _That isn’t exactly what I had in mind_ , Jenny thinks. At the same time, she finds herself smiling back at Vastra and meaning it.

            After dinner, which earned a “Superb!” from her mistress tonight, they retire to the drawing room, each to their own book. Vastra, Jenny notes, is reading Corelli’s popular first book, _A Romance Of Two Worlds_ (she suspects Vastra is more interested in what all the fuss is about than in the actual content of the novel itself). Jenny herself is rereading some of Vastra’s own notes on developing focus and fearlessness as an intermediate sword-bearer. Not that she can focus on her reading or anything.

            “Jenny, come here,” Vastra says. “Read this passage here,” she says, pointing as Jenny comes up from behind the settee where Vastra is perched. Jenny bends over a bit to see the page.

            “It’s lovely.”

            “Indeed, I thought you might like it.”

            “It’s no Shakespeare.”

            At that, Vastra laughs. Jenny smiles at the sound, pleased with herself. Her chest swells at the music of her mistress’s laughter.

            “Indeed not,” Vastra agrees. “But nonetheless it is a pleasant sentiment. Come, have a seat here. Continue your studying closer to the fire.” An hour or so later, they adjourn for the evening. Jenny and Vastra slowly walk up the stairs together as Jenny asks for clarification on Vastra’s notes. On the landing, Vastra delays further, challenging some of the concepts presented in her novel while rather enjoying some of the ideas it offers. “Anyway,” Vastra concludes, “I digress. And I daresay I am keeping you from sleep longer than you intended for tonight. My apologies.”

            “There’s no need, ma’am. I hardly noticed the time.”

            “Nonetheless, a very good night to you, Jenny,” Vastra says nodding.

            “And to you, Madame. Don’t let the bed bugs bite.”

            Vastra smiles. They both turn towards their respective bedroom doors. Jenny sneaks a glance over her shoulder as she reaches for her doorknob, but only sees Vastra’s ankle as it passes into her own quarters. Jenny closes her door behind her.

            “Aaaaauuugh!” she groans, falling down on her little bed. She tries to organize her feelings. She feels frustrated that Vastra stayed home tonight, costing her some hours of privacy in the midst of her madness. She feels grateful for Vastra’s company, however, and she really did enjoy her company. But she missed out on watching and learning from Vastra on the hunt, and following her through the night is always so exciting. She feels happy in a small way, knowing the bed she lies on was once Vastra’s, in her mistress’s first apartment. But she also feels annoyed with herself: _That is a stupid reason to be happy._ She feels like her heart is fluttering about erratically. It is entirely unpleasant.

            Jenny rolls over, glaring at the ceiling. She cannot puzzle it out. It is not enough information to explain her madness.


	32. Sixth Sense

**034\. Sixth Sense**

 

1886

 

            All of Jenny’s powers of concentration are focused on where, exactly, her physical body exists in space. And on moving it quickly enough. The rapid thump-thump-thump of the bokkens—hardwood practice swords—is all she can hear above her own thoughts, which scream at her within. _Upper block! Back step, left block, right block, back step, to the side, lunge! Hurry up!_ Sparring with her mistress, her teacher, is incredibly stressful. Exciting, too, of course, because it is worlds more interesting than cleaning windows. But stressful. Madame Vastra is fast and far superior at spotting  openings. They circle each other, back and forth, across the entire span of the cellar floor, moving the bokkens with such force and speed that an uninformed observer might think that their weapons are significantly lighter than they are.

            Suddenly, Madame Vastra moves her sword in an awkward way. Jenny sees it fall, even as she is moving in the slash at her mistress, who orders, “Halt!” But Jenny cannot, and the wood smacks into Vastra’s side. Much to her surprise, the force has knocked her mistress to the ground. For a moment, Jenny is too petrified to speak.

            “M-ma’am! Ma’am, I am so sorry, can I- ?”

            “Yes, you are sorry. Help me up.”

            “Yes, ma’am.” Jenny lifts Vastra up, feeling terribly guilty for what she has done.

 

            Every once in a while, Vastra repeats this odd practice. At the most unexpected time and without warning, she will drop her bokken and call for her student to halt. Each time thus far, Jenny has been unable to obey the command. Her mistress becomes increasingly frustrated by this inability (and, unbeknownst to Jenny, she is actually taking something of a beating).

            Then, weeks later, Vastra calls halt again. It is a dangerous moment. Jenny and Vastra have been sparring on and off again for hours at this point, their fight intensifying rapidly. And yet Vastra orders, “Halt!” Just as Jenny is about to slash at Vastra, right at her skull. By some miracle, though, Jenny freezes the very second Vastra drops her sword and announces her command. They stand there, motionless, the edge of Jenny’s blade mere centimeters from her mistress’s defenseless cheekbone. Her brown eyes are wide, but her face is otherwise expressionless. She barely dares to breathe.

            Vastra smiles. “Very good.” She moves her head away just enough that Jenny can comfortably lower the bokken. The maid releases pent up breath. “I could have really hurt you, ma’am!”

            “Ah, but you did not, and that makes all the difference.”

            “Ma’am?”

            “Allow me to explain,” Vastra says. “In a martial art such as we practices, some of the most dangerous practitioners are those with the least experience.”

            “Why, ma’am?”

            “You see, Jenny, an inexperienced fighter is unaware of herself. She does not understand how the movements she learns double her strength, she cannot keep track of where her body is in space, and she does not have the power to stop herself. A beginner might have knowledge of strikes, blocks, et cetera, but she lacks control. This makes her very dangerous to herself and others.”

            Jenny nods, expecting there must be more. Otherwise, if being a beginner made you so dangerous, why continue in studying?

            “However, it is control that makes you powerful,” Vastra continues. “Strength is not power, control is. A feeble elder can fight off fifteen strong youth if he has proper control of himself and the situation.”

            “So,” Jenny says, puzzling out what her mistress means, “you were testing me.”

            “Exactly. I was testing to see if you could come to a complete halt, pushing back against your own momentum, instantaneously. For one of the most important forms of control is the ability to recognize when to stop.”

            “Yes, ma’am,” Jenny says, her habitual response to all orders and explanations her mistress gives to her during training.

            “And today, you have passed. You managed to cease your actions before I had even finished calling the order. This is an important skill to have, a sixth sense if you will—it can save your life.”

            Jenny had never thought of that before. It seemed natural that the ability to fight could be used to defend and protect; she had never considered that _not_ fighting could similarly protect lives. “What’s that mean, ma’am?”

            “It means you are ready to use a real blade.”


	33. Smell

**035\. Smell**

 

Summer 1886

 

            Vastra walks upstairs, fretfully searching for misplaced a favorite copy of Shakespeare’s Sonnets, when she pulls up suddenly. She freezes, tracing a scent. _What is that?_ she wonders. In her own house, she does not recognize a very powerful scent. Yet it is familiar…

            As she goes into her own room, finding the book but not the source of the smell, she hears Jenny dart out of the smaller washroom to her own chamber. Vastra goes back to the threshold of the bedroom, catching sight of Jenny’s ankle as a door closes on the other end of the hall. She pauses, sniffs, tastes the air.

            _No..._

            But Vastra follows the scent, and indeed, in the air between the washroom and Jenny’s door hangs what she is searching for. _No! It is not possible!_ Vastra thinks. _Apes cannot change their scent, they cannot_! She would have to confirm her hypothesis. Knowing that only Jenny—as Vastra rarely had reason to host guests in the upstairs guest room—uses that washroom. So the scent that she _knows_ to be Jenny’s must suffuse that room.

            She enters carefully, quietly, watching Jenny’s bedroom door. However, as soon as she enters, Vastra is overwhelmed by the new smell. In such quantities, she can now trace hints, foundations that are clearly reminiscent of the scent she thought of as Jenny’s for well over a year now. In face of the evidence, she cannot deny what her nose tells her. But how? How could it be possible?

            Vastra exits the room, chin resting on her book as she thinks. When she first met Jenny—the very first time, as Vastra raged through the streets of London—and she had trapped the little ape against a brick wall, prepared to kill, she had assessed Jenny’s scent on the spot. She smelled of raw waste and sewage, like the whole rest of the city, of fear and terror and very recent rage, of dying autumn leaves and soot and coal; only the barest bits of the foundations Vastra now recognizes were present then. Of course, the rawness of the waste smell diminished considerably when next she saw the ape-girl, but much of the rest remained the same until last spring.

            _I will have to consider this more,_ Vastra thinks.

            Early the next morning, as Jenny finishes her warm up sets and practices her forms, blocks, and strikes, Vastra watches. From her seat on the cellar stairs, she can scent Jenny quite clearly. It isn’t simply that the cellar air and dirt are accumulating on Jenny, she realizes, but the very moisture her body produces to lose excess heat ( _Only mammals could suffer from_ excess _heat._ ) releases her aroma. Yet this scent does not quite match that scent from yesterday morning… Vastra waits. After the training session, she positions herself in her own bedroom, out of sight, and as soon as Jenny darts into her room, Vastra sneaks back into the washroom.

            “Aha!” she whispers to herself, sniffing. She has figured it out. _While Jenny produces her own scent, the foundations raw, from exertion, there are other factors that adjust the odor in the context of the cellar and training. By washing immediately afterword, Jenny removes the impurities and the remnant is entirely her own scent!_ Vastra preens, proud of herself for this new discovery about pseudo-evolved-ape physiology and how it could improve her own investigations.

            Vastra breathes in another whiff. What is Jenny’s scent? There’s the salty-sweet scent of her blood, of course, as all creatures have. Also, there is the scent of London air when a strong, fresh wind graciously blows away the pollution and smog for a time. Bits of soaps and foods are there, but Vastra suspects they are not foundational in Jenny’s aroma. And there is something Vastra cannot quite name in English or Silurian, something musky and dark. It reminds Vastra of clean, beautiful dirt, from forests or the gardens of the cities of her youth, and yet… This, Vastra decides, must be Jenny’s base smell. If Jenny lay dead in some unknown corner of the planet after spending decades from her home, that base is what Vastra would use to track and find the body.

            _That’s a morbid thought_. Vastra, coming to herself, exits the washroom and makes her way downstairs. Every time she encounters Jenny, her nose immediately seeks out that dark scent, and much to her delight—as it is a rather pleasant aroma—it is always there.

Eventually Vastra remembers that it was she who insisted Jenny start washing everyday after training when she first apprenticed her maid.

 

 

Very Early 1887

 

            Jenny trains alone this morning. Once she has completed all the practice she can muster on her own, she cleans and puts away her blade, stretches. And she climbs the stairs to wash herself. She shivers as she darts to her bedroom and changes into her maid’s uniform. Normally, Jenny would take an hour or two to rest after a training session, but today, no. She steps out into the upstairs hall and looks across to Madame Vastra’s door.

            It must be that time of year again.

            She stands there, debating whether she should or should not check in with her mistress. Earlier this year, Vastra had not been particularly keen on Jenny seeing her in this state. But things had changed. As her student and friend, Jenny can’t help but feel the need to offer some kindness. Making her decision, Jenny crosses the landing to Vastra’s bedroom door and raises her arm to knock. Yet she pauses; An aroma wafts through Jenny’s olfactory system.

            A flashback envelops Jenny. For a brief moment, she is again pinned to the brick wall, seeing again the face of Vastra for the very first time. So close, hissing, snarling, wailing. Of course Jenny got a good whiff of her.

            But that’s just it: Ever since that night, Jenny has remembered that smell as being Vastra’s smell. She never thought to get another opinion of her mistress’s scent. Why would she? And yet the aroma that has overpowered her senses is so different from that smell from before.

            Dirt. Burning cloth and metal and glass and flesh. The rank, previously unknown scent of reptile.

            Jenny had just assumed that was what Madame Vastra smelled like all of the time. Since she never had good reason to desire to relive that… sensory experience, she simply assumed that she could only smell Vastra from up close. After all, Jenny is human. Her body is designed to have excellent coordination, her brain is designed to notice patterns and learn quickly. Not smell things.

            This is definitely not that smell, though. She’s sure of it, and her gut reaction is that this aroma is actually Vastra. Perhaps gut reactions are another thing she, as a human, is designed to have.

            Come to think of it, Jenny has been up close to her mistress and teacher before. Madame Vastra has had several close calls with her prey, requiring Jenny’s assistance to heal. Furthermore, they come in fairly close contact during sparring in training. Certainly close enough that Jenny should think she would have gotten a good whiff of her.

            Jenny blinks. She has only been standing at the door a few seconds, but she blushes at her absent-mindedness, and knocks.

            “Ma’am?”

            A groan answers. Yes, her mistress is definitely molting.

            “Can I bring you something to eat, ma’am?” Jenny asks, opening the door a crack. She can’t see much; the curtains are still pulled shut and the fire appears to have gone out.

            “No, Jenny,” Vastra groans from somewhere behind the door. “But thank you.”

            “Something to drink, perhaps?” Jenny asks. For a moment, nothing.

            “Perhaps,” Vastra says, “A glass of water.”

            _Not even blood!_ Jenny thinks.Then, _Goodness, the things I think these days_.

            “I can do that for you, ma’am.”

            “And Jenny…”

            “Yes, ma’am?”

            “You practiced?”

            “Yes.”

            Jenny hears a raspy sound underneath Vastra’s pleased humming. “Will you draw a bath for me, please? After you’ve brought up some water?”

            “Yes, ma’am,” Jenny says, closing the door.

            Her tasks done, Jenny waits patiently in the hall for Vastra to put on her robe and stagger her way to her washroom. Once the door closes, however, she marches into the master bedroom and throws wide the curtains.

            “Oh dear.” Now that she can see the room properly in the cool winter daylight, Jenny can tell why she could pick up the scent from the hallway. Previously, Vastra all but forbade Jenny from interacting with her, let alone cleaning her room. She must have earned some trust from her mistress, because Jenny can see why the poor thing wanted to be left alone.

            Jenny crouches down by one of the bed’s posts and picks up one of the larger sections of colorless, flaky, skin. She furrows her brow, examining the large sheet and translucent material, fascinated. It almost has a powdery texture. Slowly, Jenny brings one of her hands close to her face, two fingers and thumb pinched together, rubbing the soft, sand-like powder.

            _Aye, that’s it!_ Jenny thinks, putting down the large sheet. Despite herself, she sniffs again.

            Well, it is not rank, like the unkempt cages in the London Zoo’s reptile house. Nor harsh like burnt material. It’s like… spices. Yes, spices! And it’s like the smell of the tropical plants down in the greenhouse. Sand, too, as might be expected from powdery, flaky, dead skin, Jenny supposes.

            She stands and sets about gathering up as much of the flakes and sheets as quickly as she can. While Jenny believes Vastra will remain in the bath a good long while given her condition, she can never be sure. Once she has piled it all up, she sets about getting a fire started again. _She really shouldn’t let it go down for hours on end during the winter,_ Jenny thinks. _She could freeze in her sleep._

            “Thank you, my dear,” Vastra says from the doorway. Jenny looks up from her work. Her mistress is bundled up in a robe (or two), watching her.

            “It’s nothing, ma’am,” Jenny says, “But you shouldn’t let the fire go down like that. I’d be happy to get it going again anytime you need it.”

            “Duly noted.” Vastra’s cool gaze falls on the pile of her skin. “You needn’t worry about that,” she says. “I will dispose of it.”

            “Yes, ma’am,” Jenny says, a little concerned that she might have overstepped. She excuses herself, and as she passes by her mistress, Jenny can’t help but take a deep breath.

            Spices.


	34. Sound

**036\. Sound**

 

1893

 

            “Anyone coming?”

            “Negative!” Strax answers from the other end of the hallway.

            “Hush! Not so loud!” Jenny whispers.

            “We should just blast the door!”

            “Yeah, great idea, and we’ll just let everyone in Britain know we’re here, shall we?” Jenny sasses, jiggling the pick into the door’s lock.

            “Really?”

            “No.” Jenny scowls at the door, using her spare hand to put away the case of lock-picking devices in her possession. Her fingers feel a soft click through the pick in her right hand. “Ah! Got it!”

            Beaming, she opens the door.

            Right in front of her crouches none other than Clarence Demarco armed with a butcher’s knife.

            Jenny slams the door shut.

            “Run!” she shouts, turning towards Strax as a thud emanates from the other side of the door.

            “What is it, boy?” Strax asks as she approaches.

            “No questions, just run!” Jenny in her svelte black combat suit sprints past Strax, who quickly follows.

            Demarco gives chase, already coming up from behind, shouting incoherently and brandishing that knife. Strax runs a little faster to catch up to Jenny. They dart down an adjacent hall, turn a corner, through a door, and they’re running across a suspended path above the factory mechanisms below.

Jenny leads the way, and as she turns a corner, she chances a glance back. Too close.

“You got any grenades?”

“Yes!” Strax says excitedly as they run. He pulls one out from his coat pocket and shows Jenny. “This is a single-cell grenade, class F charge—”

“Yeah yeah, give it here,” Jenny replies, wrenching it from his hand. “Hold on!” she instructs, grabbing a support pole and turning to face the serial killer. She throws the grenade at Demarco.

“That’s my job!” Strax shrieks, watching the little org float through the air.

The grenade does not hit Demarco, however. It blows as soon as it bounces against the metal railing. Jenny yelps as the path buckles, tipping forward. She loses her grip on the pole and is pulled down by Strax’s weight, falling off the blasted end just as Demarco falls from his side of the blast.

“Lot of good that did!” she shouts at Strax as the floor below quickly comes closer.

“Well I didn’t do it this time!”

They hit the ground. They only fall a floor or two, but the contact pushes air out of Jenny’s lungs and she doubles over, gasping. Demarco does not look much better, but she scrambles away from him all the same, takes her stance.

“I will kill you!” he screams.

“Not today.”

Demarco turns around. A single katana aimed at his face sticks out of the dark. Soon, an arm and body follow it out of the gloom, revealing a veiled woman. The murder looks back at Jenny and Strax, then at the blade, and finally peers at the veil. Infuriated, he bats at the sword, ignoring the splash of blood bursting from his arm, and swipes his knife at Vastra’s throat.

“No!” Jenny screams.

“Madame!” Strax shouts.

But Vastra simply steps aside, letting the man’s momentum carry him forward into a fall. He drops the knife, coughs, turns over. The Great Detective herself stands over him, her blade against his neck.

“Up.”

Demarco stands obediently, muted by his own rage.

 

            “You frightened me, my dear,” Vastra comments later that night as she sharpens her sword in the firelight of the drawing room. “For a moment, I thought you would say my name in front of the man.”

            Jenny, having just returned from putting away her own sword, cannot answer. She very nearly did just that, just what they must never, ever do while working, certainly not in front of a suspect, much less a madman. Faltering, she walks into the room and seats herself.

            “Of course,” Vastra continues, considering the edge of her weapon with a master’s eye, “Strax came closer.” She glances over at Jenny, then back at her blade. Satisfied that her instrument is both clean and dangerous, she stands and sheathes it. Jenny stands with her; as soon as the blade is contained, she grabs at Vastra’s hand.

            “Jenny?”

            “I thought…”

            “He didn’t.”

            “I know but—”

            “Shhh,” Vastra says, wrapping her arm around her wife’s shoulders and pulling her close. Jenny huddles against her, grabbing fistfuls of Vastra’s dress. “You are a protective little thing,” Vastra comments quietly.

            “And you’re not?” Jenny retorts, her voice muffled against Vastra’s chest.

            Humming, Vastra kisses her hair, takes her by the waist and leads her out of the room. In the hallway, they run into Strax, who freezes. “Put those back,” Vastra commands, seeing the packets of sherbet fancies in his hand. Grumbling, he returns to the kitchen. Meanwhile, Vastra returns her blade to the stand. She turns to Jenny, caresses her check with the back of her hand, and together they head to the stairs.

            As they lay together in their bed, Jenny’s ear resting on Vastra’s chest and Vastra’s fingers running up and down and across Jenny’s back, Jenny listens to the sound of her wife’s heart, pumping cold blood through her fiercely alive body.


	35. Touch

**037\. Touch**

 

Late 1884

 

Jenny knocks on the door and enters the flat of her employer, but as she looks around the room, she realizes that the Lady is missing. She looks back the way she came—a short hallway leading to a flight of stairs that go down to the street—with confusion. Outside, the sky is raining buckets.

For the past several weeks, Lady Vastra has largely remained unmoved in her room. Every day, Jenny makes the trek here, acquires meat from the butcher’s shop downstairs, and attends to the creature’s needs. The green woman almost always is found sitting in her one little chair as close to the tiny fireplace as she can be without catching flames. She never looks at Jenny and hardly ever speaks to the maid. That suits Jenny just fine. Silence speeds along the process of cooking, cleaning, and otherwise trying to make the creature comfortable. The less time she can spend in the company of her employer—a charitable employer, certainly, but also terrifying—the better.

In the last week, however, the Lady Vastra has gone outside one or two times. But this is the first occasion that Jenny has arrived for work only to find her employer missing. _And she went and left her door unlocked, too,_ Jenny thinks. _At least the poor creature has little of value to attract sticky fingers._

With a short sigh, Jenny sets about cleaning the room, starting with the area just around the fire. She loses herself to her work, going into a trance-like focus on the task at hand. How much time passes, she does not know, when a large figure opens the door so quickly it smacks into the wall beside it.

Vastra, soaked through, lets out an exasperated snarl. She tries to remove uppermost layer, a hooded cloak. Her fingers are numb with cold and slippery with wet, though, and finally she is so frustrated that she just starts throwing her arms about, stomping her feet, and yelling.

“Goodness!” Jenny says, standing. “Here, let me help.” She goes to help remove the sodden cloak. At first Vastra turns her shoulder towards the ape, angry and offended at the very idea that a primitive life form could do a task better than herself. Jenny does not seem to notice, though, and starts undoing buttons while standing at the creature’s side.

Defeated and bitter, Vastra turns so that the maid is at a better angle for undoing the buttons. She refuses to look at the ape, though. Perhaps she is cold and drenched in this rotten, lonesome, world, but Vastra still has her pride.

Jenny removes the cloak and hangs it on a peg by the door. “You’ll probably want to change into some other clothes than those, ma’am,” she comments, knowing perfectly well that the creature probably will not answer. “You’re soaked to the bone.”

“I noticed,” Vastra sneers through clenched teeth.

“I’ll step out a minute, then,” Jenny replies. Several minutes later, Vastra opens the door a crack to allow the talking ape back in. She has laid her wet clothes out near the fireplace and sits as close as she can to the fire herself, wearing a nightgown. Jenny silently goes about using the little coal stove to heat up the meat from downstairs, just a little bit. Satisfied, she lifts the pan off the stove, meaning to go put the meal on the only plate in the room. Vastra misunderstands; she thinks the ape is going to hand her the pan so she can eat directly and warm up. The result is a rather clumsy interaction of hands between the two. They graze each other, and immediately they pull back. Jenny looks down and turns away to get the plate. Vastra rubs her hand where she made contact with ape flesh, mortified and angrier still.

            It is the first time they have touched skin to skin.


	36. Taste

**038\. Taste**

 

1884

 

            _I could just not show up. I could go back to selling matches, pretend it never happened…_ Jenny stares up at the ceiling from her pallet on the floor, contemplating the situation. Through the thin walls of the building, she can hear a bird chirping, announcing that soon-soon the Sun will rise.

            She sits up. Carefully, she removes the blanket from atop herself and wraps it around the little girl next to her on the pallet. Jenny stands carefully, being the closest to the wall, and steps around children sleeping on the floor. Most of them are cousins, taken in by her sister and brother-in-law, who sleep on a low bed on the other side of the small room. Quietly, she changes into her dark dress and pins up her hair with the help of a little broken mirror by the pitcher.

            “Auntie Janny?”

            Jenny turns immediately. The little girl she shares her pallet with is sitting up, her hair all a mess and her eyes refusing to open. She goes to perch next to the girl.

            “I’m here, little darling,” Jenny says. She brushes some hair out of her niece’s face.

            “You going to your new job?”

            “Mmhmm. Don’t you worry, it’s still very early. Go back to sleep.”

            “Mmrm,” the child grunts, and she lies back down.

            Jenny stands, smiling down at the girl’s black hair, the only visible bit of her while under the blanket. She heads out of the building, fingers gliding on the knob of her parents’ and younger siblings’ flat on her way down. At least those siblings that have survived… so far…

 

            Jenny makes her way west in the early morning. She arrives at the butcher shop right as he opens up for the day. Before she goes to purchase anything, however, she will need to go upstairs to collect her employer’s purse. Jenny could not fathom how that Doctor managed to convince the bank the Lady already had a small fortune. But then, it’s only her second day on the job.

            Reaching the correct room, she knocks. No answer. Jenny opens the creaky door and enters, only to find herself stepping onto the plate of food she had prepared yesterday. Untouched.

            “Ugh!” _What is this?_ Looking up, Jenny can see the creature sitting in front of the little coal stove still, as though she didn’t move all day or night.

            “You didn’t eat any of it? You’re going to let all this bread and cheese and sausage waste?” Jenny asks.

            No answer.

            “Well will you eat it today?”

            Nothing.

            Jenny huffs. “Fine.” She grabs the plate, takes it outside, and offers it to the first beggar she sees. _The poor know how to be grateful_ , she thinks indignantly. How dare that Lady snub a perfectly good meal?

            Jenny tries again. She goes into the butcher shop, carrying the plate under her arm, and asks for something else today.

But for an entire week at this new job, the creature will not bring a single morsel to her mouth. On day five, Jenny tries to feed the Lady as if she’s a baby, but she won’t even look at Jenny as she lifts a forkful to her scaled mouth. By day seven, the young maid is genuinely concerned that perhaps the creature is _trying_ to starve, to die, which would pose quite a serious threat to being paid for her services. Come day nine, however, Jenny brings another package of meats and, remembering she left her gloves in the shop, goes back down to the butcher. When she returns, the paper wrappers are torn open, the meat gone.

For a moment, Jenny blinks in confusion at the paper.

“You ate it _raw?_ ”

No answer, although, the Lady does lick her fingertips. Over time, Jenny learns what Vastra will eat and what she will not touch. Granted, once the Lady starts going out and about during the nights, every once in a while she will stop eating again, claiming to be “full.”

 

 

Late Spring 1885

 

            “There you go,” Jenny says, throwing a crumb to a little bird hopping on the windowsill. It gobbles the bread up and flits away. In Madame Vastra’s new apartment, Jenny has taken to eating her own meals in her own room. Having her own room, a space dedicated entirely to her own use and privacy, is too beautiful a blessing for Jenny to pass up spending time therein.

            As she chews, there is a knock at the door. It opens immediately to Madame Vastra. Before her employer can speak, however, her blue eyes look at the food in Jenny’s lap and a guise of complete disgust crosses over her face.

            “What are you eating?”

            Jenny swallows. “Bread, ma’am. A bit of cheese left here. And I managed to pick up an apple today as a treat.”

            Vastra continues to frown at the assortment.

            “It’s not that bad, ma’am.”

            “It looks disgusting.”

            “Well, I think what you eat is disgusting, ma’am,” Jenny says, missing not one beat.

            At that, Vastra looks up at Jenny’s face, frowning all the more. “You lie. You have eaten meat before, I have seen it.”

            “Not like you eat it, ma’am,” Jenny says, taking a bite of her apple. It’s a good one, too. The crispy, wet, crunching sound catches Vastra’s attention. Seeing her mistress stare, Jenny holds it out to her. “You can try it if you like.”

            “What is it?”

            “An apple,” Jenny repeats.

            “No. Is it a… bread?”

            Jenny laughs so hard she covers her mouth with a spare hand. “No, ma’am, it’s a fruit.”

            Vastra bends down, sniffing. The way this creature moves still bewilders Jenny. How she manages to stay hidden when Vastra goes out every single night, moving about like that, Jenny suspects she’ll never know. Slowly, Vastra’s sniffing nose comes close to the apple. Sensing no toxins, she bites at it, quickly stepping back. Jenny strives to contain her laughter, but it is just too ridiculous seeing a fully-grown woman—albeit a green one—acting like some confused stray dog.

            “Well?” Jenny asks as Vastra chews the little chunk she nipped. As for herself, Jenny takes another bite.

            “You apes have odd taste,” Vastra says. Whatever she came in for, she’s clearly forgotten, because Vastra turns around on the spot, knocks on the door again, and exits. Jenny snickers; letting her mistress knock on every door she crosses is too entertaining to correct just yet.

As for the apple, Jenny knows Vastra actually liked it—she swallowed after all.


	37. Sight

**039\. Sight**

 

1888

 

            “Ahh!”

            “Jenny!” Vastra shouts. She hurls herself at the attacker, who somehow manages to escape her clutches and run for it. Instead of chasing after the monster, Vastra whirls around, dashes to Jenny’s side.

            “Let me see,” Vastra barks.

            “It’s nothing, ma’am,” Jenny protests.

            “Jenny, now!”

            Although she glares, Jenny takes one hand, then both, down from her jaw and neck. She sees Vastra flinch, her scaly brow furrow, her tight lips part as she takes in a sharp breath. Jenny knows perfectly well that it is a nasty cut just at the sight of Vastra’s reaction. But she’s angry, and frustrated that her injury cost them their prey, and she does not want to be comforted right now—even by her mistress—so Jenny stands, putting her hands back up to staunch the bleeding some. Vastra hurriedly follows suit.

            “Where do you think you’re going?”

            “Away,” Jenny says.

            “No you are not. Not like that.”

            “I’ll do whatever pleases me, _ma’am!”_

            “You’ll freeze losing all this blood.”

            “I’m not like _you_. I done just fine for myself before we met, I can do just as well now, thanks.”

“Jenny, stop!”

            “Make me.”

            Vastra should have noticed. The depth of Jenny’s tone, the hunch of her shoulders, the bite in her voice, the sing of her blade as she retrieves it from the street, the force of her heels on the cobbled road, the heat of angry blood rising to the surface of her body. And for a brief moment, Vastra pauses, thinking something looks different about Jenny storming off tonight. But she does not notice. Instead, she follows Jenny through the streets of London, shouting one thing after another, her own frustration growing, until finally she says the exact thing she ought to know by now that she should not ever say to Jenny.

            “What’s this, then?” Jenny shouts sarcastically over her shoulder. “Needing your little _pet monkey_ ,” she spits, “to keep you warm at night?” She glares into the darkness ahead, not even bothering to tend to the gash on her jaw and neck. Bitterly, she adds, “But can’t stand me anywhere else?”

            Vastra hisses in frustration, following Jenny up the poorly lit street. “I did not say that.”

            “But you did call me an ape!”


	38. Shapes

**040\. Shapes**

 

1888

 

            “Come along, Jenny.”

            “Oh. Yes, ma’am.” Jenny feels perplexed. Why had she not been paying attention? She followed Madame Vastra out of the bedroom to the main room, back to the closet where the body had been discovered. Having thoroughly examined the entirety of the young diplomat’s hotel rooms, it was now time to examine the body more closely. Somewhere nearby, the diplomat is asking something and Jenny can hear one of the few policemen with them tell the young man to be respectful.

            “Jenny? Are you even listening?”

            “What?” Jenny asks, looking around her suddenly.

            Vastra scowls a bit at having to repeat herself. “I just said, notice the lacerations around the neck. It is a rather unique pattern, isn’t it? Personally, I doubt that whatever rope or cord was used to do the job came from this location.”

            “Yes, ma’am,” Jenny replied, doing her best to pay attention and keep her eyes from wandering. Wandering… wondering… When did Vastra acquire that dress? And how…?

            “And the shape of this dagger wound is most– Now Jenny, really.”

            Only when Vastra stands up straight does Jenny realize what she had been staring at while her mistress was bent over at the waist.

            “Oh. I- I’m sorry, ma’am.”

            “Mr. Northwood,” Vastra says loudly, “Would you be kind as to escort the young gentlemen to new quarters for the duration of his stay in London? As I am sure he is quite upset about the death of his associate, I would like him out of my sight as quickly as possible.”

            The policeman nodded, saying, “Aye, ma’am.”

            “You can’t throw me out of my own rooms.”

            “It’s for your protection, lad,” the policeman reports, gruffly grabbing the diplomat by the shoulder and relinquishing him of the ability to choose.

            “As for you,” Vastra says, turning to Jenny, “Follow me and eyes front.”

            “Yes, ma’am,” Jenny says. Within seconds, her eyes droop to an angle at which she is once again perplexed by shapes.


	39. Triangle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Featuring River and the Doctor (11)

**041\. Triangle**

 

Early 1889

 

            Jenny and Madame Vastra follow the Doctor into the Tardis.

            “Are you sure we can leave Strax in charge while we’re gone?” Jenny asks.

            “Jenny it’s a TIME MACHINE!” the Doctor says. “We’ll back before we even left!”

            “Hello, ladies.”

            Jenny and Vastra look around the Doctor to see who spoke. River Song stands at the controls. She smiles down at them as the Doctor saunters up beside her.

            “River!” Jenny says, resisting the urge to point.

            “Song,” says Vastra at the same time, inclining her head.

            Already River has produced a worn out blue diary and is fingering through its pages. “So where are we exactly?” she asks the pair of them.

            Vastra and Jenny exchange a confused look. “We… we’re here. In London. We haven’t seen you since Demons Run,” Jenny says.

            “Ah, there we are,” River says. “Oh good.” She turns to the Doctor, who is whirling about the controls. “At least you can manage to meet _them_ in order.”

            “I do try,” he replies, pushing down a lever and sending the women grabbing for a handrail.

            “Where are we going?”

            “Fantastic question, Jenny!” the Doctor replies. With a devilish grin, he continues, “I have no idea!”

            As the Tardis shakes, flying off into the oblivion of space, Vastra shouts, “Doctor! Where are the others?”

            “What?”

            “Where are Amy and Rory?”

            The Tardis balances out and the Doctor shares a glance with River. “They’re fine. They’re at home. You know, twenty-first century. Perfectly safe, nothing to worry about. I imagine Rory’s test driving his new car.”

            Jenny whispers to Vastra, “Car?”

            Vastra shrugs. But she notices River look away at a wall with watery eyes.

“Now then…” The Doctor darts around the console to its screen. River looks over his shoulder. “Ah bingo! The Planet of the Fontuni!”

            “What is the planet called?” Vastra asks.

            “Just that: The Planet of the Fontuni. They’re a little narcissistic as a species, but excellent cooks,” the Doctor replies. “They’re a migratory species,” he says, as the crew marches toward the door. “Have to be. At night, they literally cannot move, makes for very easy pickings. The planet’s orbit is the same length as its day, so they migrate to always stay in the light. Kind of poetic, don’t you think?”

            River just smiles, rolls her eyes, pushes the door open. The four walk outside.

            “Oh!”

            The time travelers look around them. They seem to be standing in the middle of some sort of parliamentary session of brightly feathered creatures with piercing, cat-like eyes. Around them, an enormous tent-like structure mitigated some of the cutting brightness of the sunlight beyond.

            “I suppose these are the Fontuni,” Vastra ventures as they stare and, in turn, are stared at by the crowd.

            “Yeah,” the Doctor says, grimacing a bit. “Oops.”

            “Oops?” Jenny says.

            “Yeah.”

            “Who enters upon the court of the highest order?” one of the locals calls to them, rising.

            “Oh,” Jenny says, seeing now that these are horse-like creatures. With wings. And arms. She and Vastra look at each other. Although they don’t speak, Jenny can almost hear Vastra saying, “And you thought _I_ was odd in appearance.”

            “Oi, as if you were any better about me,” Jenny mutters.

            “Just let me do the talking,” the Doctor whispers. River looks over at the others, smiles and says, “We’re done for.”

            “Hello! Very nice to meet you all. Sorry to barge in like this, can’t say we knew where we were going.”

            “Who are you?” asks the approaching Fontuni. To Jenny, it sounds like a ‘him,’ even if he is almost entirely bright pink. The face is bird-like, in a way, but as expressive as any human she’s ever met.

            “Perhaps they have come to aid us!” someone from within the crowd shouts.

            “Do you need help?” the Doctor asks.

            “Who are you?” repeats the pink Fontuni. Vastra has slowly, carefully, placed a hand on the hilt of each of her swords.

            “I’m the Doctor.” Murmuring fills the tent. After a moment of watching this, he asks, “Who are you?”

            “My name is Derrick.”

            _Rather normal name,_ Jenny thinks.

            “I am the presiding officer of the court. We are meeting to decide on a matter of great importance and urgency.” His eyes wander over Vastra, who glares back at him, but he says nothing more.

            “What’s the matter?”

            “We are being hunted!” A blue and green Fontuni rises, approaches. Jenny thinks its voice sounds more feminine, but in all honesty she could not guess what distinguishes the sexes on this planet anymore than she could guess how the Tardis actually works.

            “By what?” River asks.

            “Neph, hush!” Derrick says. The one called Neph nips at his hindquarters and he bristles. “You should not even be here!”

            “Go eat grass,” Neph replies. Jenny can’t be sure what’s going on, but she suspects she is going to enjoy this adventure. “Doctor, are you the one from whom legends are told? We are not so far from the planet of the Gamma Forests…”

            “Are we?” the Doctor asks. “Well funny how that all works out.”

            “So you are him. You can fight for us.”

            “Depends.”

            “We are hunted.”

            “Everyone is. We all have to eat.”

            “No, we are hunted by a species like you.”

            The Doctor freezes and Vastra holds in a gasp. “What do you mean?”

            “Two-legged, similar build of face. But grey and hard as stone and winged.”

            Even as Vastra sighs, disappointed by no news of Gallifreyans, River reaches out and clutches the Doctor’s jacket sleeve.

            “Creatures of flesh yet not. Creatures that move in the night but cannot in the light. Creatures that with one touch disappear our people.”

            Vastra searches her memory for one of the Doctor’s stories that might offer some clarification, for now the Doctor grasps at River, too. Vastra can taste the fear rolling off of them, even Jenny, who despite her ignorance is leaning closer to Vastra for some sense of security.

            “Enough,” Derrick chides the blue-green Fontuni. “Neph, we must send them away and deal with this threat ourselves.”

            “I know what’s out there,” the Doctor says. “I know what hunts you.” Around them, the brightly colored Fontuni ruffle their feathers and whisper to each other. “The Weeping Angels.”

            Jenny listens as the Doctor describes the Weeping Angels—for Vastra’s and her benefit as much as for the Fontuni—with increasing horror. Maybe this will not be such a fun adventure after all. Finally, the Doctor concludes his short lecture, and Derrick interrupts with a question.

            “Who are these others with you?”

            “Hm? Oh my team! My gang! Gotta have a gang.”

            “Who are these others with you?”

            “Code names!” the Doctor cheers. He motions to River, saying, “We’ve got Mrs. Robinson—”

            “I hate you.”

            “Nah you don’t.” He continues, “The Lizard,” he motions to Vastra, who glares at him. “And The Lips. Or The Mole, if you like,” he concludes with pointing toward Jenny, who turns red and darts her eyes between Vastra and the Doctor.

Vastra growls. “Tread carefully, old friend.”

 

            “It doesn’t make any sense,” River says. “We’re nowhere near Angel territory. They shouldn’t be here, it’s the wrong place. In another galaxy halfway across the universe, maybe, but it doesn’t matter what time zone, they should not be here.” The team—plus Neph, who has insisted on helping despite Derrick’s protestations—consults in a much smaller tent structure. Vastra soaks up the heat of the nearby sun by standing in the entryway, humming to herself. Jenny sits on the ground, her feet kicked out in front of her, leaning back on her hands.

            They go over the Fontuni’s information again.

            “So perhaps they are coming from somewhere else,” Vastra ventures.

            “What?”

            “Doctor, you yourself brought us here from elsewhere. I have seen for myself that River is capable of much the same thing using some other technology. Perhaps these Angels have found a means to transport themselves across vast distances, if not times.”

            “That seems very unlikely,” the Doctor says.

            “But impossible?” Vastra nudges.

            River smiles at Vastra. So does the Doctor. But what Jenny notices, what sends her sitting bolt upright with wide eyes and a frown is River winking at Vastra.

 

            “I can lead you no further,” Neph announces as she halts. Around them, daylight seems to shimmer across the endless sea of grasses and exotic flowers. Yet Neph continues, “Any further and I shall be night-trapped.”

            “Night-trapped?”

            “Remember Jenny, the Fontuni can’t move in the dark,” the Doctor says.

            “But it’s not dark.”

            “Soon though, the dusk shall cover this land. I will slow until I stop. In three days, every plant here that has thrived under the star’s gaze will day, and so will I… Unless the Angels kill me first.”

            “Thank you for taking us this far,” River says.

            “I can wait here for you,” Neph offers. “But only three hours. Then I must return to the Great Dance of the Proud Fontuni.”

            “The migration, of course,” the Doctor says. He claps his hands together and looks at the others. “Three hours! Plenty of time to save a planet, eh?”

            They march onward, the Doctor with his sonic screwdriver, River with her gun, and Jenny and Vastra with their swords. Even as the world around them darkens only slightly, the Doctor pulls torches out of his pockets and passes them out.

            “But how’d they all fit in your jacket?” Jenny asks.

            “Bigger on the inside,” the Doctor says with a wink. Vastra flicks her tongue out, hisses to herself.

            They continue forward in silence.

 

            “Aha!” the Doctor shouts. The sky is dark red and gold, the air thick with panic as the planets’ many daylight-dwellers race from the dusk.

            “What is it?” River asks, looking where the Doctor points his torch.

“A mill?” Jenny asks.

“Precisely,” Vastra says, lifting her chin. “That’ll be a good place to start.” She smiles at the others. “The Fontuni, as you have surely noticed, do not care build architecture. A structure like that is too sedentary for their migratory lifestyle.”

“The question is,” the Doctor says, clearly thinking on the same wavelength as Madame Vastra, “What’s a thing like that doing out here?”

Jenny and River share a look. Coming up behind them, the Doctor throws his lanky arms over their shoulders, and River smiles up at him. Meanwhile, Vastra looks over her shoulder, convinced that she feels the eyes of another upon them as the other three skip— _Skipping, really?_ —toward the building.

It is a good ten minutes before they actually reach the building, which turns out to be much larger than Jenny originally thought seeing it from a distance. “It looks very…” she starts to say.

“Human,” River agrees.

“So what is it doing here?” the Doctor says aloud the shared thought as he takes measurements with his sonic screwdriver. “Lots of temporal shifts, indeed…” he mutters.

Vastra—who has been hanging back during the entirety of their march—walks quickly forward now. “Doctor,” she says, keeping her eyes trained at the vast plains around them. “I believe we are being watched.” The Doctor looks down at her. She glances up, whispering, “And followed.”

He scrunches up his face, his eyes darting about, and fixes his bow tie. “Friend,” he says to Vastra as Jenny and River start looking around them, too. “You can see in the dark, can’t you?”

“I can,” Vastra says.

“Right. Then you’re our watchman. The darker it is, the less you blink, understand? Because the Fontuni are wrong—it’s not that the Weeping Angels can’t move in the light, it’s they can be _seen_. If anything sees an Angel, then they carbon-lock and are powerless. So as long as you can see them, we have a fighting chance.”

Just then, a rustling sound comes from the tall grass twenty feet away from the building. Their heads all snap in that direction. Vastra concentrates, watching, listening as the air darkens around them and Jenny grabs the hilt of her sword.

“Now would be a good time,” River says, “to find the door.”

“Right,” the Doctor says. He and Jenny turn towards the wall to look.

“There,” Jenny says, pointing her torch down the length of the building, where on the opposite end is a door. The Doctor and River run for it while Jenny takes Vastra’s hand in her own and guides her while the Silurian watches for movement behind them. Although she can sense Vastra is a good deal cooler than she would like, Jenny says nothing. “Why aren’t you inside?” she asks when they catch up to the others.

“It’s locked!” the Doctor says.

“But your screwdriver—” Vastra says, turning to look. The tall grass near them rustles; she whips her head back outward and unsheathes her sword.

“It doesn’t work on wood!” the Doctor and River shout in unison.

“Oh get out of the way!” Jenny hisses, shouldering the Doctor. She pulls out a leather packet of some kind from the front of her blouse. Untying it reveals an assortment of metal tools.

“How’d you—?” the Doctor says, pointing at the packet, but stops when Jenny glares and River stomps on his foot. “Ow!”

Turning her attention to the door, Jenny selects a pick for the lock. Vastra flicks her tongue, tasting the air, her eyes wide as the sounds come closer. Jenny blows on her hands for warmth, continues. Behind her, Vastra can smell the group’s fear.

“There!” Jenny shouts.

River kicks the door in.

They pile in. Vastra slams the door shut behind them, but when she backs up her back hits the backs of the others. “What is wrong?” she asks, keeping her eyes and her torchlight on the door.

Jenny answers, barely whispering. “There’s one inside.”

Vastra, hearing nothing outside the door, spins around. Looking between the three others, packed together intensely closely in front of her, Vastra sees the statue of a winged human woman in a loose dress in their torchlight, her head bowed and her hands covering her face as though frightened or ashamed.

“Don’t blink,” the Doctor says, staring at the creature before them. He swallows. “Whatever you do, don’t blink.”

“Sweetie,” River says. “We need to get out of here.”

“Right,” he agrees. “Vastra?”

“Yes, old friend.”

“Take a look around the rest of the room. What do you see?”

Vastra first checks the door again—nothing has entered behind them—then makes a thorough sweep of their surroundings with her torch, her katana poised to strike as she surveys.

“There are no others in this room. To your left is a hallway, I would say it goes the length of the building, off of which I believe are several small offices. Not far down the hall are some stairs up to another floor. Perhaps with higher ground we might have a greater advantage against these angels.”

“Okay. When I say so, Vastra, you lead the others upstairs. River, watch the back and shoot at anything that follows me.”

“I thought you didn’t like it when I shoot at things, sweetie.”

“Have to break rules every now and again. Now…”

Jenny unsheathes her katana. While the others have eyes on this one, she blinks, preparing to run without closing her eyes.

“Run!”

They run, and although she can’t see him, she hears the Doctor follow them out fairly quickly, shouting like his pants are on fire. Behind her, she hears River shoot at something, shout at the Doctor. She runs, just behind Vastra, careful to keep her blade low and watching the landing above as they climb the stairs. Jenny can’t help but sense that Vastra seems to moving a little slowly… perhaps to let the Doctor catch up.

Although they all manage to climb the stairs and stand on the landing, the can see quite clearly that Vastra’s guess about the structure of the building was wrong. This second floor is what appears to be an observational deck. Over the edge is a large room.

“What is it?” the Doctor asks, backing up the stairs and point both his torch and his screwdriver down as he spots a line of Angels on their tail.

“I think we’re in trouble, Doctor.”

“Well describe it to me! Are there any more angels up here?”

“No, sweetie,” River says. “But there are a lot down there.”

Vastra steps alongside the Doctor and takes his place, staring down the stairway at their enemies— _More! But how?_ —allowing him to look out.

“Oh.” An enormous room below—the whole of the building except for the hall and the room they first entered—is full of lines of angels, their eyes covered. “Okaaaaaay.” Something catches the Doctor’s eye. “Now what are those three doing?”

“Doctor!” Jenny shrieks. She runs forward, abandoning her blade, and catches Vastra as she collapses. Jenny tries to keep her eye on the stairs even as she tries to carry her mistress away. “She’s too cold!” Jenny says, maneuvering Vastra into a secure hold. She looks up again. The Angels are halfway up the stairs. She yelps, pulling Vastra away. River runs to the stairs, shoots at the top few without taking her eyes from the creatures, then stomps out the severely burned wood. As the staircase starts to collapse, she says, “We’ll have to find another way out of here.”

The Doctor, having watched all of this, whirls back to look at the main room, resisting the urge to help Jenny coax Vastra awake. Stupid, he should have thought of the temperature! Even in this dark, he can see his breath rising; he can only imagine what a fast drop like that had done to Vastra. Stupid! Worse, looking over the Angels below now, he can see that they have all turned to look up at them. “Think! Think! Think!”

Jenny utters a cry, still holding tight to Vastra, trying to keep her awake with gentle nudges. River kneels beside them—keeping the spot where the stairs were in her peripheral vision—and puts a hand on Jenny’s shoulder. “Jenny, there’s no use to that.”

With a pained look, Jenny’s eyes catch Rivers. Her pause allows River to grab Vastra by the shoulders and rattle her, shouting, “WAKE UP!”

“Oi!” Jenny shouts at her, even as Vastra groans, weakly struggles against River’s grasp.

“You’ll only make it worse by making her comfortable,” River snaps. “Warm her up, fine, but if she’s comfortable, she’ll sleep.”

            “Oh!” the Doctor shouts, attracting their attention. “That is—Oh! Brilliant and horrifying! River you see? You see?”

            “What is it, Doctor?”

            “Look look! Those three in the center! They’re forming a triangle, you see?” The Doctor says, his limbs moving about of their own free will as he tries to explain. “Normally, angels don’t touch—it would require looking at each other, and they’d freeze each other you see?—but these three must have touched without looking at each other. They were _active_ and touched each other! The time manipulation energy must have enormous, so much that it ricocheted around them and dragged all the others with them through the time vortex, where they bounced around for a millisecond before arriving here. Boom!”

            River nods, her eyes widening as she catches up with the Doctor. “Even the building! But so far! Can you imagine how much energy that took? You would think it would kill them.”

            “Unless the others were carbon-locked at the time. But if we could recreate the event, make them un-touch and touch again, we could send them all back to wherever they came from.”

            “And how do you expect to get them to do that?” River says. “Ask nicely?”

            “TORCH!”

            The Doctor and River whirl around, aiming their torches at Jenny and Vastra. Just in time: One of the Angels that had been climbing the stairs had found a new way up. Its stone form was caught, frozen while clawing out of the hole where the staircase had been. River spins back to the main room, and in her torchlight she can see that the Angels have moved since they looked away. But her light can’t fill the whole room.

            “Sweetie, give me your screwdriver,” she asks. The Doctor hands it to her, starts to walk slowly toward the Angel as Jenny lifts Vastra and carries her further away.

            “I can… walk by myself,” Vastra coughs.

            “How many fingers am I holding up, ma’am?”

            Vastra looks. She hisses in frustration.

            “Well?”

            “Five.”

            “Two.”

            “I hate you.”

            “Love you, too, ma’am.”

            “Jenny,” the Doctor says, stepping between his friends and the danger. “How good are you with that blade?” Jenny gives him a quizzical look, glances at where she had dropped her sword before.

            “Fair…?” Behind him, Jenny can see River sonicking her torch, creating a floodlight. She swears under her breath, seeing the progress the army of Angels have made.

            “I have an idea. Before when I’ve met the angels, they’ve nearly gotten me. Even had me by my coat. But nothing happened, I got away. I have a theory—and my theories are usually right—that they can’t transport you while you’re looking at them, and that they can’t transport you by touching an object at the same time that you’re touching it. Now a gun doesn’t stand a chance of doing any real damage to them… but a sword…”

            Pausing a moment, Jenny positions Vastra next to the wall and stands up next to the Doctor. She follows his gaze at the Weeping Angel, hanging from the creaky wooden floor, and walks to her sword, bends down, picks it up. “What if your theory is wrong?”

            “Then I’ll come find you.”

            “Can your Tardis do that? Track a person?”

            “No. But you wouldn’t be shifted in place, only in time, and no more than a hundred years back. As long as there aren’t many time paradoxes in this area, I could do it,” the Doctor lies.

            Jenny gives him a side-long glance he cannot see. Even from Vastra’s seat, she can tell Jenny is unimpressed. Jenny is of course accustomed to her steadfastly, sometimes brutally honest mistress; the Doctor’s lies seem quite obvious and foolish by comparison. But then she catches Jenny watching her, and Vastra lifts her chin as much as she can, touched and terrified by those brown eyes.

            Without a second glance, Jenny marches up toward the trapped Weeping (screaming) Angel, takes her stance, and slashes downward. The powerful attack cleaves the Angel’s head in half. Jenny jumps back, as does the Doctor, amazed. Wood flooring creaks as they all watch the Angel tip and fall out of sight.

            “Jenny!” Vastra shouts (as much as she is able).

            “Is she all right?” River calls, not daring to look away from the others.

            “I am!” Jenny says. She laughs. Vastra musters the strength to stand, lean against the wall, and Jenny runs up to her mistress, delighted that they are not separated. They hug, Vastra’s companion doing her best to warm her up.

            “You hear that Angels?” the Doctor roars, joining River yet again. “I know you can’t move but I know you can hear me! As long as we can see you, as long as your carbon-locked, we can kill you! And just this once, I really don’t care, so here’s what we’re going to do. You three in the center are going to do the clap thing again, or so help me, with this light on we are going to go through the room and one by one behead every one of you!” Jenny looks at the Doctor over her shoulder, then back at Vastra, clearly troubled by his threat. “Now, since you can’t do this until we look away…” he continues. He places a hand on River’s shoulder, a signal. “One… two… three…” They blink.

            The threat of the blade does the trick. They fall—the building and the Weeping Angels vanishing around them in a blast of energy like white light—back to the ground, in an expanse of flattened tall grass where a wooden building once stood. Landing heavily, it takes them all a moment to get upright again and look around. Despite the dark, there’s no denying that they’ve survived.

            “Haha!” the Doctor half laughs, half wheezes. “I’m going to have to remember that trick!”

            River, bent over from having the wind knocked out of her, looks away briefly. Vastra hears he whisper to herself, “You won’t.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m a terrible person.
> 
> For clarification, this occurs for the Doctor after the ‘praise him’ episode, for River after Amy and Rory become stuck in New York City, and for Vastra and Jenny relatively shortly after Demons Run. Timey Wimey.


	40. Square

**042\. Square**

 

1888

 

            “Careful now, my dear. You are in for a shock.”

            Jenny raises her eyebrows at Vastra as her mistress leads her into the mysterious blue box that just… arose in the drawing room. It seems ridiculous that she, Vastra, the Doctor, and the strange Roman named Rory could all fit in the impossibly—

            Jenny’s jaw drops. Her feet stop. Dark brown eyes widen. And over by the console, the Doctor smiles. He exchanges glances with Rory and Vastra, before they all knowingly return their attention to Jenny.

            Suddenly, the maid-turned-assassin jumps, beaming, runs up the ramp to the console, runs around the whole ring, stops to look at the room again from the top of the ramp. Vastra walks up beside her, tentative but pleased.

            “It’s—!”

            “Yes, Jenny?”

            Then Jenny runs back down the ramp and out the door. She whirls around, back in the drawing room, about a half-step from running into a chair. Giggling, she looks over the blue box before her. When she runs back inside the enchanting thing, the other three are laughing, not at her but because her unbridled enthusiasm is absolutely contagious.

            “It’s bigger on the inside!” Jenny cheers. “Is it magic?”

            “It’s a time machine,” Rory says, correcting her.

            “A Time-And-Relative-Dimension-In-Space machine,” the Doctor says, correcting Rory. “Or Tardis for short. It is my ship. Time-Lord technology.”

            “How’s it work?” Jenny asks, running up to the controls and stealing glances at the colorful room around her. “Does it really travel in time? To anywhere?”

            “Ah look at that,” the Doctor says, grins at Vastra. “She understood the Relative-Dimension-In-Space bit.” The Silurian nods to him. “Actually, Jenny, it is rather complicated to explain.”

            “What is that?” Jenny asks, pointing to the screen.

            “Well this allows us to do environment checks, monitor the health of occupants, see to the Tardis’s maintenance—”

            “But what is it?” Jenny asks, touching the screen.

            “Uh, Doctor, telly’s not been invented yet,” Rory says.

            “Oh! Oh Jenny, this square contraption is a… well I mean it’s not, although you can use it as one I suppose, but anyway this ah… Honestly I don’t know that I remember how a proper telly works.”

            “Doctor, shouldn’t we get going?” Rory asks impatiently.

            “No. Go running after a hostage right away, they’re killed every time.”

            Rory gasps for air.

            “It’s all right Rory, she will be all right. But for right now, let’s be hospitable to our friend and guess, Miss Flint. Now, Jenny…”

            Vastra hangs back, smiling at her beloved Jenny. Although she can’t say she knows Jenny’s exact age—she has her relative suspicions, of course, as any detective would—in this moment Vastra sees how very young she is, even by human standards. She soaks up every bit of information the Doctor delivers her—and he says quite a lot rather quickly—the two of them racing around the controls, Jenny shrieking in delight at the shakes and shudders and sounds made by this delightful blue box.

            What seems like—and actually is—much later, Jenny finally comes to rest beside Vastra, the pair of them leaning against the guardrails around the console platform. Jenny, still cheerful, turns to Vastra. She doesn’t really have anything to say, but somehow she wants to communicate just how splendid this new adventure is so soon after the conclusion of Vastra’s hunt for the Ripper, so quickly ending her miserable, lonely weeks of being forbidden from Vastra’s nightly investigations. And in turning to look at Vastra, she catches the look in those blue eyes. Jenny blinks rapidly; her own eyes change in response, still cheerful but also welcoming, sensing the love radiating from Vastra. She licks her lips, lets her hand edge closer to Vastra’s until their pinkies overlap.

            “Now!” the Doctor says, whirling about the controls. “Normally we would storm straight into battle but that is not going to work here, we need to strategize and prepare and take our time. So Vastra, Jenny, I suggest we take your things to a bedroom for you two to get settled, then a meeting to catch you both up to speed and have your thoughts. Go out that door there, third door on your left, then second on your left, then up the right stairs and twelfth door on the right. That should do you two nicely, I think,” the Doctor says with a wink. Jenny and Vastra look at him, then silently move to move their luggage.

            Rory thinks, watches them for a moment, then marches up to the Doctor. “Isn’t that the room with the really nice bed? But the door’s always locked.”

            “I unlocked it,” the Doctor replies, shrugging. As the pair enter the hallway, Jenny smiles to herself, hearing Rory’s next reaction.

            “Wait. Are they-? But they couldn’t possibly-!”

            “It’s a big universe, Rory!”

            “But that was the 19th century! In London! There were no Silurians in 19th century London!”

            “Oh sure there were Silurians in the 19th century, Rory. Very far below the surface of the Earth, and yes only the one actually _in_ London, but nonetheless—”

            “So how come Amy and I always get bunk beds but they get the nice room?”

            The Doctor pauses, blushing a bit. Straightening his bow tie, he swallows and says to Rory, “In case you hadn’t noticed, Rory, those two are Victorian samurai detectives-slash-interspecies lesbians. When a rare queen comes to visit, you pull out all of the stops. Or I suppose in this case queens.”


	41. Star

**045\. Star**

 

1889 (sort of)

 

            “Are those the Sontarans?” Jenny asks.

            “Run! Just run!” the Doctor shouts. He throws a large object at them, his arms flapping above his head as he catches up to Jenny Flint, Madame Vastra, and River Song, who catches the thing. Being a little more prudent and a fair deal less impractical, Vastra grabs her companion’s shoulder and forces her to turn, to run after the madman they count as a friend. As hellfire begins raining down on the team of intergalactic, time-traveling crime fighters, Jenny is suddenly very glad that Strax is a rather peculiar Sontaran. Also she is also glad Strax is not with them.

            “Open the doors, open the doors, open them!” the Doctor shrieks, snapping his fingers repeatedly as they run past the rivers of lava, away from Sontaran blasters, and into the embrace of the one and only Tardis. “Shut the doors, shut the doors, quickly!”

            “Doors shut!” Vastra announces, being the last to enter.

            “What did you do now?” River asks the Doctor.

            “Nothing,” he says innocently. But he smiles, too. “I might have taken a prototype of a new device they had developed for the purpose of taking over this planet and… used it to surf the fire falls. But I’ll bring it back!”

            “Mmhmm?”

            “You know, when they don’t want to kill us all quite as much.”

            “So never.” When it came to the Doctor, River Song seemed to know all.

            “Well- “ Something suddenly rocked the Tardis and everyone grabbed for the nearest bar.

            “Doctor, what has happened?” Vastra calls, attempting to join the others near the console.

            “Oh, they’ve just found us,” he says, grimacing. “Not to worry!”

            Just as the _Sontar-Ha!_ chant seems to be upon them, River and the Doctor are at the controls, toggling switches and lifting levers and turning valves. Jenny smiles, listening to that marvelous, strange sound that she knows means that they have escaped. She looks over at Vastra, who is smiling back at her. The Silurian lets go of the bar and stands up, turning to look at her old friend with incredulity. Meanwhile, Jenny walks over to the object the Doctor took.

            “How’s it work?”

            “Oh, you know, it does clever things.”

            “That will not satisfy her, Doctor,” Vastra says, watching Jenny. “She has a curious mind.”

            “Ah yes, humans!” the Doctor says with delight. “Very well, I will explain but first! Since we are in the neighborhood: Vastra, open those doors!”

            Vastra looks from the Doctor to the doors a few times, eyeing him with distrust. Nonetheless, she goes to the Tardis doors and opens them. “Oh my…”

            Jenny looks up. She walks toward her mistress and peeks around her shoulder. Awe fills her heart.

            The Doctor smiles at River, then looks back at his friends. “It’s a star being born. Or hatched, if you like.”

            It looks so close to them, yet it must be hundreds of thousands of miles away. A bright ball of light shines, surrounded by an rotating ring of dense clouds of so many colors neither Jenny nor Vastra could scarcely have imagined existing in the vacuum of space.

            The Doctor continues, swaggering away from the console. “In fact, it is a massive star being born. In millions—billions—of years, those clouds will become a solar system. Planets and asteroids and moons, all of it. And the light of this star being born will not be seen from the surface of Earth until 2048.” He smiles back at River again, ever so delighted at what a treat he has given his friends. In turn, she smiles indulgently back at he who can never hide his enthusiasm.

            “Imagine that, ma’am,” Jenny whispers. “A star we could never see, right in front of us.”

            Vastra makes a sound of agreement. She too is filled with absolute wonder at the sight. But she wonders if she might live to such an age as to witness the year 2048 on Earth. Banishing the thought, she steps behind her Jenny and wraps her arms around her companion’s waist from behind. The lean their heads together, transfixed by the birth of a star.


	42. Heart

**046\. Heart**

 

_Strax: “The heart is a relatively simply thing.”_

_Madame Vastra: “I have not found it to be so.”_

 

1892

 

            Madame Vastra sits at the kitchen table, nursing a temple in the room’s low morning light. Jenny, still wearing her uniform from the night before and her hair falling out of its usual bun, sits two steaming cups on the table. Slowly she lowers herself into a chair next to her wife. Vastra opens her eyes a sliver, letting in just as much light as she dare so that she can glimpse Jenny and her cuppa. She reaches out to place a gloved hand on Jenny’s when—

            “A GLORIOUS MORNING!” Strax the Sontaran booms, marching through the kitchen door, causing Jenny to snap up to standing and Vastra to grimace and hiss. “Nothing but dying in battle could exceed the magnificence of combatting the enemy all night and morning long! Sontar-HA!” He repeats the chant a few more times, louder with each iteration, until he notices that Jenny is shaking her head very quickly. Strax falters, and Madame Vastra slowly—very slowly—turns to glare at him from her chair.

            “Strax…”

            “Madame.”

            “Shut up!”

            “But Madame, you made excellent exhibition of your combative techniques—”

            Vastra hisses threateningly.

            “Oi Strax!” Jenny says, walking up to him as cheerfully as she can muster. “Why don’t we go out in the hallway and you can tell me all about your favorite triumphs from last night?” She places her hands on both of Strax’s shoulders, turning him and walking him toward the door. He laughs victoriously, starting in on a blow-by-blow account of what she herself had experienced as they exit the room.

            Returning to her tea and her headache and her exhaustion, Vastra grumbles at having the company of her companion taken from her, but bears it as Jenny volunteered herself for the torturous endeavor of listening to Strax tell a very Sontaran version of the story.

 

            When she left the kitchen and her cuppa, it was just after sunrise. Now, it is well past nine in the morning, and Jenny is sneaking pinches to her arm to keep herself awake and listening to Strax’s tale. It hits her, listening to him finishing up, that perhaps he has embellished what few stories she has heard of his past. But that is a thought for another day.

            Strax pauses, long enough for Jenny to know he has finished storytelling, but not quite long enough for her body to catch up and react in a proper, encouraging way.

            “Lad, do you believe Madame finds me a worthy soldier?”

            Jenny looks at Strax’s face, not moving from her seat next to him on the stairs. After years as flatmates, of sorts, she has never heard him utter such a reflective sentence. She takes a deep breath. With what little energy she has left after nearly forty-eight hours of intense investigative work with this friend, she puts a companionable hand on his shoulder. And it hits her, how unfortunate it would be to lose such an aggravating and entertaining friend. “I do, Strax.”

            He looks away from her, seemingly thinking for just a moment. Then he nods, stands up abruptly, marches upstairs, leaving Jenny watching him, her chin in her hand. Slowly (and a little more loudly with her groans), she too stands. Unlike Strax however, she hobbles down the stairs, back down the length of the hallway. She steps into the kitchen, looks up. Her darling Vastra is sleeping at the table, having emptied both cups. _Heaven forbid we waste tea_ , Jenny thinks with a soft, tired chuckle.

            She sighs, rubs at her forehead, gathers the cups to be cleaned later. Knowing she couldn’t possibly bring Vastra upstairs in her current state, Jenny hunts down a blanket and drapes it over her wife’s slumped shoulders. Watching her sleep for a moment, Jenny tries to do that thing Vastra taught her at the wedding. “Trace an aura,” or whatever. But she’s too tired to even just keep her hand suspended above Vastra’s face, so she just brushes her cheek.

            When Vastra wakes, a little too chilly all alone in the kitchen to stay comfortable for long, she considers the blanket about her. She stands, folds it to her best ability, but does not know for sure where it is supposed to go. So she puts it on the table corner. Peeking about the first floor of Number 13 Paternoster Row, she spots Jenny, curled up in her favorite chair in the drawing room.

            Jenny starts, wakes to find a gloved hand on her cheek. Looking up, she smiles. “Hi,” she says, he voice tired and loose and intoxicating.

            “Hello.”

            “Bed?”

            “Mmm.”

            They walk—stumble, really—hand in hand.

            “Strax didn’t keep you up to long I hope, my dear?”

            “No, ma’am.”

            “Didn’t threaten to blow up the house?”

            Jenny chuckles. “No. And even if he did I could handle it.”

            “I know,” Vastra hums, snuggling up closer to Jenny for the last few steps to their bedroom. “You can handle anything we throw at you.”

            “Hardly,” Jenny whispers, starting to fall asleep again at the simple sight of her bed. “I just play along.”

            “Brave little human.” _The heart that keeps us all breathing._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere on Tumblr (no I can’t find it again, I apologize), someone (not me) posted that they considered Jenny the heart of the Paternoster Trio. I very much agree.
> 
> EDIT: Said Tumblr post is here: http://greyghost101.tumblr.com/post/50847677927/jenny-flint-the-heart-of-the-paternoster-gang  
> Yay!


	43. Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Strax arrives in London

**051\. Fire**

 

1888

 

            They should have known better. They really should have known.

            Vastra had been against the idea originally. But after two days at Demons Run waiting for River Song to take them back to London, during which she and Jenny saw to the proper disposal of far too many bodies and tended the poor creature’s wound, Vastra had been particularly susceptible to Jenny’s compassionate tendencies.

            They knew bringing Strax to Earth—and keeping him from destroying the planet—would be a challenge. But surely if any dynamic duo could handle the task, Jenny and Vastra could.

            They should have known better.

 

            “Welcome home!” River announces. All three of her passengers—Madame Vastra, Jenny Flint, and Strax—are sent reeling upon landing in front of Number 13 Paternoster Row.

            “Bloody Hell!” Jenny exclaims, clutching her head.

            “Ah yes, I forgot to warn you,” River says, “When more than one or two people use the vortex manipulator to travel through time, there can be some unpleasant physical affects.”

            “I’ve been shot!” Strax proclaims from his place on the street. “I told you! I am dying!”

            “You’re not dying, Strax,” Vastra reiterates.

            “So how come you’re fine?” Jenny asks River, slowly standing upright again.

            River smiles. “I’m always fine, Jenny, dear.” She resets the machine on her wrist. “Well, I’ll be off then. See you later, sweeties,” she says, winking at Jenny and Vastra. And just like that, she’s gone.

            Vastra sighs. “I think I have had enough time travel for now.”

            “I think I preferred the Doctor’s Tardis myself,” Jenny concurs.

            “I believe it’s just before sunrise. Shall we rest a while?”

            “Rest?” Strax asks, standing up suddenly. “Preposterous! I have military reconnaissance operations to conduct on the planet of London, and I shall do it with or without the aid of you impure alien scum!”

            “Strax, I don’t think that- “ Jenny began, but Strax was making a run for it. “Oi! You get back here!” She is just about to run after the Sontaran when a hand grabs her shoulder.

            “Wait, Jenny!”

            “But he’s armed! He has alien technology all over him, and he- !“

            “Yes I know, but it is dawn. We can’t chase after him in our current attire.”

            “But we- ! “

            “We will change, quickly. We cannot risk being seen on top of whatever trouble he is about to get himself into.”

            “Aye, ma’am,” Jenny says, and they dash for the front door. “Thank the Doctor! He must have brought this back after he left Demons Run.” Just inside the door sits the trunk that they had left on the Tardis, containing all the items from Paternoster Row they had needed for the mission to rescue Amy Pond. Vastra yanks it open.

            “Do not thank him too much. He is a time traveler after all; for all we know he might have waited months before remembering to return our- “

            “Oh who cares?” Jenny shouts, throwing her trousers and vest off and yanking on the dress closest to the top of the trunk, her maid’s uniform. She bolts back out the door, leaving her sword behind.

            “Jenny!” Vastra, who has not made nearly as much progress, can only watch her go. _It is too cold for any living thing to move that quickly_.

 

            Now Jenny, of course, is not nearly as good at tracking a person down as Madame Vastra. That said, Strax is not a typical quarry.

First of all, Strax is loud. Jenny runs up and down deserted streets as the sun slowly peeks from behind the horizon. But suddenly, she hears it. Somewhere down the cross street she just passed, someone is causing some kind disturbance and rambling on about the Sontaran Empire.

            Secondly, Strax is not dressed “to blend in.” Jenny runs down the cross street, where she can see working class folks are starting to head out for a long day. Up ahead, however, a man seems to be in an argument with a short, blue thing. A crowd seems to be gathering.

            Thirdly, Strax is armed. A quick succession of short red beams shoots up into the sky. What crowd had gathered is dispersing and screaming.

            “Oh please don’t have killed someone!” Jenny has almost reached him. “Strax!”

            “Ah, good! Ready to neutralize these vermin?”

            “No neutralizing!” Jenny screams. Only a few meters more. Jenny leaps as though to tackle the Sontaran, but Strax moves out of the way and instead she lands on top of the mane he must have been fighting with. _Well at least he’s not dead,_ Jenny thinks, trying to stand. Suddenly, red shots ring out from Strax’s weapon toward the street. Jenny ducks. When she looks up, Strax is already on the move.

 

            Jenny and Vastra are gasping for air. Soot and ash cover their faces and clothes. Vastra stands up again, but Jenny is too spent to follow suit just yet so she stays on the ground, panting.

            “Do you mean,” Vastra coughs, “to tell me… that Strax set this building on _fire?_ ”

            “Ma’am,” Jenny gasps, “I would not have been here to put it out if it had not been him.”

            Vastra shakes her head, clearly irritated. She had spent the entire day trying to track down Jenny and Strax’s haphazard route through London. When she finally caught up to Jenny, she found the human doing her best to remove fellows of her kind from a burning apartment.

            “But why?”

            “Ma’am, allow me to speak my mind openly. Strax has not attacked a single person or building of national importance all day; I am beginning to suspect there was a reason the other Sontarans removed him from their ranks.” She raises an arm, which Vastra takes, and slowly Jenny stands up again.

            “No time to lose, we must find him.”

            “Before he sets the whole city on fire.”

            “Here,” Vastra says. Jenny gratefully takes the hilt of the sword offered.

 

            “Prepare to die for the glory of the Sontaran Empire!”

            “Strax, I will end you if you aim that thing at me!”

            He does. Strax points his gun at Jenny and fires a single shot. Jenny, by some miracle of muscle memory, moves her blade into a block position even as Strax is pulling the trigger. The laser shot reflects off Jenny’s katana back at Strax.

            “No!”

            “Did that actually work?” Jenny asks, looking down at the blade with newfound respect.

            “It should not have!” Strax cries. “Alien scum! I shall enjoy watching you writhe in agony for the gl- ”

            “Hold on, that hit you!”

            “The Sontaran Empire is as intelligent as it is beautiful!” Strax says. “Do you really think our armor is vulnerable to our own fire? Can a fleshy filth such as yourself ever stand a chance?”

            “I wonder what this could be…”

            Before Strax can turn around to see that Vastra has snuck up behind him, the Silurian has smacked the little air release at the back of the neck of Strax’s uniform. In an instant, he collapses.

            Jenny follows suit further away. “Three days,” she says. “Three. Days.”

            “Come, Jenny. Help me carry the brute.”

 

            When Strax awakes, he finds himself in a small, comfortable bedroom of Paternoster Row. Jenny is waiting for him. “All right you,” she says. “You’ve had your fun. But in case you’re forgetting, you are still a nurse first and foremost. The glorious Sontaran Empire of yours hasn’t revoked that. And seeing as you’re someone who takes care of others, I think it’s time you started making the rounds of apologizing to everyone you’ve met in London.”


	44. Air

**053\. Air**

 

1893… ish

 

            “Ah, I like the new desktop!”

            “I was getting a little bored of the Taj Mahal.”

            Jenny watches her wife pour tea for the conference guests. Again, her mind wanders to Clarence Demarco, how she cannot believe Vastra is even considering letting the man live, but the conference call should sort out his situation once and for all. A little part of Jenny wishes Vastra had eaten the despicable creature for all he had done or at least poisoned him, but alas, Jenny has taught her wife to respect the customs of ape society all too well. But she’s getting distracted again, has been speaking without paying attention.

            _River Song has arrived, excellent._ But somehow, Vastra has already stumbled into a delicate matter in humanity’s manner of conversation, and oh Strax is not helping, let’s get out of this quickly.

            “Perhaps we should get down to the business at hand,” Vastra says, looking to Jenny for affirmation, asking with her blue eyes for help.

            “That might be good, dear, yes,” Jenny replies. At least this time Vastra noticed.

            “Clarence Demarco, murderer. Under sentence of death. He offered us this in exchange for his life.”

            “Space time coordinates,” River observes.

            Although she listens to the presentation, Jenny hears a slight creak or whistle. _What could that be?_ But she returns her attention to the others, just as Clara asks a question. “Which is…?” Ah, she is referring to the secret.

            “We don’t know. It’s a secret,” Jenny offers.

            Cold.

            _That’s odd,_ Jenny thinks, touching her face. She could swear she has just felt a draft of air. That shouldn’t happen. She is not near the windows, no, she’s closest to the door…

            _Did I lock the door?_ Jenny thinks suddenly, a sharp fear constricting her chest. She shudders. Vastra has taught her as much as she can about developing a warrior’s awareness of a place, of one’s physicality, of the field of battle. But more importantly, Jenny is human, and as such has an innate, gut-wrenching sense for all things intangible. Together, she answers her own question within a split-second. _Don’t interrupt, wait a moment_ , she thinks, trying to remain professional, composed. But no, something is not right.

            “Ma’am,” Jenny says, “Sorry, I just realized I forgot to lock the door.”

            “It doesn’t matter, Jenny,” Vastra says, assuming she is supposed to forgive the trespass, not understanding, turning back to River, but River is staring at Jenny. So is Clara. Humans always know.

            “No, ma’am, please!” Jenny says. _Please_ , she thinks, _please Vastra. Please God let me be…_ But she’s not wrong, something is very, very wrong. “I should have locked up before we went into the trance!”

            “Jenny, it doesn’t matter!” Vastra says with exasperation, turning. As soon as she does, she freezes. In this state, her sense are dulled, but even she can see how Jenny sits, how her hand fidgets on the table.

            _Oh God!_ Jenny thinks. Here in the call, she knows herself to be breathing, and yet, aware of herself as her mistress has trained her, something is constricting her chest. She can’t breathe. _Air,_ she thinks, _I need air!_

            “Someone’s broken in, someone’s with us… I can hear them!” And she can, little whispers in her ears. But more than that, Jenny can hear them within her, reverberating into her consciousness. _Trying to get here!_ Her heart beats erratically, a healthy, fit organ trying to perform despite a horrifyingly cold, painful grip.

            “Jenny, are you all right?” Vastra asks, reaches out.

            “Sorry, ma’am,” Jenny says. Out of the corner of her eye she can see Vastra’s hand on her own, but she can’t feel it. She should be able to feel it. But no, she feels slumped, falling, falling, falling. Yet her dreams keep her seated. She doesn’t dare look over. To see her wife’s face, to tell her what she knows and see those blue eyes at the same time, no, it would be too much. “So sorry, so sorry…” How can she say it? How? _I have warned them_ , Jenny thinks, _Vastra might still live. Please, God, please take care of her_. But like this? There was so much she still wanted to do with Vastra, so much living to do. How can she say goodbye? “I think I’ve been murdered.”

            Voices are becoming hazy. Jenny tries, but she’s losing her focus. _But I have to tell her_ , she thinks, even as the room is turning foggy and dark and bright white all at once. With her last ounce of strength, Jenny tries to picture Vastra’s face.

            _I have to tell her I love her._

            And everything ends.

 

            Several things happen at once. Electricity races into her heart, blood surges, the lungs react violently to saliva that has flowed into the back of her throat, nerves fire off messages of pain—glorious pain!—and confusion and ‘GET UP!’ to the brain, and her senses flood with jumbled information. _I need air!_

            Jenny gasps, coughs. A hand catches the back of her neck, supporting her. She turns to look.

            “Are you all right, my love, …”

            It sounds a little like the air is too thick, but there’s no denying who it is. Jenny knows, instantly, will always know.

            “…can you hear me?”

            _Vastra!_

            Jenny nods a little. She swallows reflexively before gasping for more air. Finally, her brain is beginning to put things in order. Wherever they are, it is dark, Jenny can smell straw and— _God, what is that? It’s terrible!_ —something like a cemetery, her body feels sluggish, hungry and nauseous, disoriented. She is lying on the ground, and Vastra is next to her.

            “The heart is a relatively simple thing.” Jenny is almost certain that was Strax. What did he say exactly? But thank goodness he’s all right.

            “I have not found it to be so,” Vastra murmurs, still watching her dear wife’s face. Jenny can’t take her eyes off Vastra. There it is, right in front of her. _I should be dead,_ she thinks. _Dear God, I get to see you one more time!_

            Vastra pulls, helping Jenny sit up.

            _Dear God, I still have you._


	45. Breakfast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maturity required for entry to this chapter

**055\. Breakfast**

 

1890

 

            Light filters into Vastra’s consciousness little by little. Sleep departs, yet she resists wakefulness, hoping to coax the restful state back to her body. Unable to return to slumber’s soft embrace, Vastra slowly opens her eyes obligingly. “Oh…”

            Jenny’s dark eyes blink rapidly at Vastra, adjusting to the light as well. Even with the curtains drawn tight over the windows, the sunlight fills the room. Pale hands are folded in between their faces, and on one little finger, Vastra can see a bronze band.

            “That is a pleasant way to wake up,” Vastra mumbles, bringing a hand of her own up to Jenny’s face. The sweet mammal almost purrs.

            “Vastra.”

            “Yes, my dear?”

            “We are married!” Jenny whispers. She wraps an arm and leg around Vastra’s bejeweled body and pulls her close. “Wife and wife!”

            “Lizard and wife, perhaps,” Vastra chuckles.

            “Oi, if you’re a lizard-woman, I’m not just your wife, hm?” Jenny banters back. “Lizard-woman and musketeer is more like it.”

            “Let’s be wives,” whispers Vastra, kissing the tip of Jenny’s nose. She smiles, kisses Vastra back.

As she continues to kiss her darling _wife_ , Jenny asks, “So what shall we do first, dear?”

            “Well,” Vastra says, rolling over so that her torso lies on top of Jenny’s at an angle. “I believe I have heard it said that every day should start with a good breakfast.”

            “Of course, dear,” Jenny says. She moves to scoot out from under Vastra, but Vastra will not allow her to leave. “But ma’am,” Jenny says, “You have to let me out of bed if you want something to eat.”

            “You misunderstand me, Jenny, dear,” Vastra whispers in her ear. Even as she nuzzles against Jenny’s neck, Vastra flicks out her tongue, tasting one of the mammal’s nipple. Jenny gasps at the touch and looks at Vastra with curiosity. The Silurian returns her gaze periodically as she slowly works her way down Jenny’s body, taking her time to taste and kiss and caress every bit of her, from her jawline to her fingertips to her abdomen.

Suddenly understanding Vastra’s meaning, Jenny entire face changes from a healthy cream-and-pink to beet red, and she smiles all the more. With that as her cue, Vastra’s tongue flicks to the hot little bundle of nerves beneath the brown curls between Jenny’s legs. And Vastra keeps flicking her tongue against those nerves, even as she crawls on her hands and knees back up toward Jenny’s thrilled face.

“You devil!” Jenny whispers. She sits up, gasping and moaning as she does. Vastra follows suit, straddling Jenny’s lap as she continues to flick her tongue downward. Jenny wriggles with pleasure. Although she is careful not to get in Vastra’s way, she starts kissing her cold-blooded companion passionately, letting her own fiery tongue linger in some sensitive spots along the ridges of Vastra’s crown. Meanwhile her hands cup and heat Vastra’s breasts. That tongue drives harder against her as a reward.

Vastra pulls on Jenny’s hips, bringing her closer, humming happily as she does. Briefly, she pulls her tongue back so she can kiss Jenny’s lips properly, and Jenny moans and squirms and bites Vastra’s bottom lip. “Don’t stop, my love,” Jenny pleads.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Vastra replies. She tugs on Jenny’s hips once more, pulling her wife into a reclined position. Ducking down, Vastra rewards herself with a taste of the honey thick between Jenny’s legs. She moans, intoxicated by the flavor. As does Jenny. Vastra’s tongue thrusts into her flesh with rough frenzy, determined to taste all of her. Jenny bites her lip, but still a scream is rising in her. Finally, desperate, she grabs Vastra’s hand with one of her own and with her other hand, rubs at her own clit. Blue, hungry eyes watch from below.

Soon, Vastra can feel Jenny’s inner walls quivering, dangerously close to eruption. Indeed, Jenny’s back arches. Just as Jenny’s cry races out of her mouth, Vastra carefully replaces her tongue with a finger. She wraps herself around Jenny’s shaking form. Vastra just relishes the waves of heat and the looks of absolute adoration Jenny gives Vastra as climax overwhelms her, body and soul. Jenny clings to her, her heart so full of love it feels as though it’s breaking, as though she is breaking, and Vastra is the only thing holding her in one piece.

Jenny’s shaking slows to shuddering. She asks, “Did you enjoy your breakfast in bed, darling?”

Vastra strokes Jenny’s hair, her back, her legs, humming.


	46. Lunch

**056\. Lunch**

 

Mid-March 1886

 

            Vastra leads the way home late, licking her fingers delicately. Jenny falls further and further behind, deeply disturbed by her second time observing Vastra’s work as part of her training as a warrior.

            “Jenny, keep up!” Vastra calls back. She yawns happily. Obediently, Jenny trots up alongside Vastra, but keeps her distance. _As well any ape should_ , Vastra thinks to herself, rather pleased with her performance tonight.

            “Ma’am, is this one of those moments where-”

            “When, Jenny.”

            “-when I ought to be respectful, or can I speak my mind?”

            “Speak your mind, of course,” Vastra says.

            “That was wrong, ma’am.”

            Vastra stops short, whirling herself around to look at Jenny, who is glaring at the street.

            “What are you referring to, Jenny?”

            “He didn’t deserve to die like that. You shouldn’t have killed him.”

            Vastra sniffs, curious. She can smell Jenny’s anger. “Would you care to clarify, Jenny? I thought we agreed the man was a vagrant.”

            “Yes!” Jenny says, as loudly as she can without waking up the whole neighborhood. “He was. But a man shouldn’t be _eaten_ for that!”

            “Jenny, this is not an unusual case. Apes are eaten all the time.”

            “ _All the time_?”

            Vastra makes a guess at what has rankled Jenny so much. “I wouldn’t eat you, if that’s what concerns you.”

            “Oh I know that!” Jenny spits. “That isn’t the point!”

            “Then what is?” Vastra responds, losing patience quickly.

            “He deserved to be arrested. To be thrown in jail, put on trial, and left to rot the rest of his days. But he was an accomplice. Killing him won’t make the world any better, and eating him is just murder.”

            _Murder?_ Vastra ponders. The apes’ unspoken code of conduct around killing baffles Vastra. She hisses, trying to puzzle out Jenny’s meaning. “When a lion kills a deer,” Vastra begins, thinking of the London Zoo, “is that murder?”

            “No.” Jenny is glaring more pointedly now. She sees exactly where this is going.

            “That’s just nature.”

            “Yes, ma’am.”

            “What if a lion kills an ape?”

            “A proper ape, ma’am, or a human?”

            Vastra squirms, sensing she’s made another misstep. “Human”

            “The lion’s shot.”

            “Why?”

            “Because he could get a taste for humans, and that’s dangerous.”

            “Is it murder if a _human_ kills a lion and eats it?”

            “No, but it’d be a bit odd to eat it.”

            “Very well. And what if a human kills another human?”

            “That’s murder.”

            “What about war?”

            “That’s different.”

            “How?”

            “Because that’s governments and nobody can stop them from murdering,” Jenny replies. Vastra is pleasantly surprised by this answer. Yes, she had hoped to catch Jenny there, to reveal a double-standard, but Jenny seems to grasp this issue while also recognizing she is not in a position to install world peace.

            “So how is my eating a member of my typical prey from my upbringing murder?”

            “We aren’t apes anymore, ma’am. Just because we aren’t as advanced as your people were doesn’t make us animals.”

            “You are animals,” Vastra points out.

            “And so are you.”

            “…Touché. I’m still not convinced, but continue.”

            “We think. We feel. We dream and we make mistakes and we’re flawed. Just like you and the Silurians,” Jenny says, struggling with the last word. “To kill something like that is wrong. We have trials to decide whether a man has crossed a line, gone too far to be let alive. But no one person ought to just decide who gets to live and die. You aren’t God.”

            Vastra does not like this response. She has hunted apes all her waking life, millions of years in stasis not withstanding.

            “Ma’am,” Jenny says, trying to be a little less abrasive, “You’re always complaining about how humans treat other humans. How a woman’s less than a man, or this race is less than that race, or the poor fellow is less than the rich fellow. But don’t you see? That’s exactly what you’re doing when you act like humans aren’t people. Putting yourself on a pedestal… but it’s the same kind of hate.”

            “Good grief,” Vastra mumbles to herself, watching as Jenny’s face becomes sad.

            “We aren’t your lunch.”

            “Well midnight snack, rather.”

            “Shut it,” Jenny says, picking up on Vastra’s attempted sarcasm.

            It’s food for thought. Vastra is dubious about Jenny’s claims, but perhaps the mammal’s concerns are worth some consideration. “Well, Jenny,” she says, full of pride, “I will take this conversation into account the next time a meal presents itself, but I will make no promises.”

            Jenny nods. She’s angrier than she has let on, but it isn’t her place to criticize her employer. Any other person in Vastra’s position (a highly unlikely situation, of course, but in terms of hypotheticals) would never have tolerated what Jenny did manage to spit out tonight.

            They continue walking in silence. Vastra feels irked by how Jenny constantly complicates her sense of morality, her understanding of reality. But the girl is also rather exciting in a way.


	47. Dinner

**057\. Dinner**

 

Late March 1886

 

            At breakfast, Jenny did not have the stomach to eat anything, especially the disaster of meat and bread and “tea” placed on the bed beside her by her eager employer. At lunch, although the ill young lady had more of an appetite, she could hardly do more than nibble at what she assumed was supposed to be a sandwich.

This time, Vastra will somehow make something edible for the poor ape.

Upstairs, still a little more than surprised to have awakened from her disease induced slumber in Madame Vastra’s chambers, Jenny can smell the kitchen stove at work again. She cringes. Though she knows she must eat her dinner, the previous creations her mistress presented do not give her much hope for anything helpful or enticing. Her fingers trace nervous patterns on the bed sheets.

            Vastra watches the pot and the kettle intently, not daring to leave the hob for even a minute. She suspects that so doing was her downfall earlier today.

            Jenny looks up several minutes later to Madame Vastra carefully carrying a tray into her bedroom. She tries to get a glimpse of what exactly her mistress bears, but she can only see steam from this angle.

Vastra lowers the tray onto the bed, pushes it across the mattress toward Jenny, propped up by pillows. Then she sits down on the edge of the bed, watching for the reaction of the food and Jenny. The soup does not spill, nor the tea, and Jenny does not seem so put off by her nearness. But she looks even littler than usual, and very pale, very tired.

            As Vastra takes a handkerchief from the bedside table and leans forward, dabbing sweat from Jenny’s feverish face, she hears the maid ask, “You made soup?”

            “Broth,” Vastra replies. _I think_.

            “Tea?”

            “And bread. From the pantry.”

            Jenny sighs with relief. She lifts a hand, picks up the spoon, pauses… Takes another deep breath, tries to get a spoonful of the broth. Vastra reaches out, catches Jenny’s hand in her own as she struggles to bring the nourishment to her body.

            “There,” Vastra says, helping her maid, her student, her friend bring one simple spoonful of soup to her mouth. They slowly and methodically empty the bowl. “Now that was not so very bad, was it?”

            “No,” Jenny breathes. She closes her eyes briefly, licks her dry lips. “May I have the tea, ma’am?”

            “It’s your dinner, not mine,” Vastra says, scooting the soup bowl out of the way and lifting the teacup. “You certainly don’t need my permission to enjoy it.”

            “Thank you, ma’am,” Jenny says, managing to hold the cup up on her own when Vastra hands it to her. As she sips, Vastra watches, her hands folded in her lap. Although the tea is disastrous, Jenny drinks the whole thing. And despite her weak protestations, Vastra makes her eat the bread slices as well. When she is done, Vastra collects everything on the tray again and carries it with her to the door. She turns back as she crosses the threshold to the hallway and smiles slightly. In the time it took for her to walk from the bed to the door, Jenny has fallen into a peaceful sleep.


	48. Fall

**063\. Fall**

Autumn 1892

 

            “Will you not get out of bed, ma’am?”

            “Nhm.”

            “What about me, can I get up?”

            “Nhm!”

            “Ma’am, surely you’ll want something to eat? Are you ill?”

            “Don’t go away,” Vastra whimpers, clinging still to Jenny.

            For a moment, still bent awkwardly so that she can look back at her wife, Jenny considers Vastra. She manages to roll a bit despite Vastra’s strong arms holding her, lays on her back instead of her side. She touches her forehead to Vastra’s. Blue eyes open to look at dark brown ones. Empathy rushes through Jenny at the sight of those sad eyes.

            “It’s today, isn’t it?”

            Vastra nods a bit. Jenny sighs. She lifts a hand to Vastra’s cheek, gently strokes her scales. With a kiss, she breathes, “I’m sorry, darling.”

            “My dear Jenny,” Vastra whispers. “As much as it is their day, it is your day, too.”

            At that, Jenny smiles just a bit, kisses her wife again. “This is why Strax got a day off in the middle of the week, isn’t it?”

            Vastra just closes her eyes, bends as close to Jenny as she can. With her face pressed up against Jenny’s chest, she lets out an achingly lonely cry.

“Oh Vastra!” Jenny gasps, wrapping her arms around her mistress and even throwing a leg over Vastra’s hips, doing all she can to let her know she is safe. “Oh darling, I’m so sorry!” Scaled arms grasp at her, clawed hands pulling into the bare skin of her back, as the cry grows into a full wail.

“I’m here, I’m here,” Jenny coos. She kisses and caresses and rocks and trembles, so hurt that her darling wife hurts. And she stays with Vastra all day, leaving only for tea and nourishment and grooming, always to return to her love with new determination to comfort this magnificent, terrifying creature that even today, the anniversary of the extinction of her people, she is not abandoned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If this makes no sense, go read the first series of short stories, it's an anniversary.


	49. Passing

**064\. Passing**

 

1886

 

            Scrubbing at the dishes in the scullery, Jenny notices Vastra standing in the doorway from the corner of her eye. “Ma’am.”

            “Jenny.”

            _Is she holding a cane? Why would she need a thing like that?_

            “Think fast,” Vastra hisses, suddenly raising the cane for a side strike. Jenny yelps and holds a soapy plate up. The cane strikes it and it shatters.

            “Ma’am, what has gotten into you?” Jenny shouts. “Look at this mess!”

            “A warrior must be vigilante always, Jenny,” Vastra says. Jenny glowers, picking up bits of china. _Really, why do apes fret over such meaningless things?_

            “So you’re going to start trying to break my in half, is that it?” Jenny steams. “Well, thank you, so very happy to oblige, ma’am!”

            “You did well, Jenny, it was a fair block.”

            “Get out!” Jenny shouts finally, pushing Vastra out of the room. “Look at this mess,” she says to herself once the door is closed. “I don’t bring my work here down to the cellar. The nerve of her, trying to make me train while I’m working _for her!_ ”

            For several weeks, this continues. Vastra, in passing, suddenly throws something or attempts to strike out and Jenny dodges or blocks. Usually it ends in Jenny kicking Vastra out of the room, huffing and puffing, and Vastra humming to herself, pleased with whatever prank she has performed.

            However, Jenny becomes very ill. As the ape recovers into early April, Vastra ceases all training sessions.

            “Would you care for some tea, ma’am?” Jenny asks one day.

            “Are you sure you are feeling up to it?” Vastra asks in turn, fretting over her maid.

            “Ma’am, really, I am doing much better now,” Jenny insists. She coughs behind her hand. Vastra watches with entirely too much concern. “Ma’am, stop it.”

            “Very well. Yes, thank you, Jenny.”

            Vastra returns to reading the paper. Determined to relax, she forces herself not to look up when Jenny returns with a tray. Suddenly—

            “Think fast!”

            Vastra ducks, covering her head with her paper, as a teacup comes flying at her face. It crashes into the wall behind. Vastra sits up, looking over her shoulder, then whirls around, mouth agape, at her maid.

            Jenny stands there, smiling in that manner she has, and sets the tray with a teapot and spare cup next to her mistress.

            After that, Jenny is allowed to resume training, and Vastra takes a hint to stop.


	50. Rain

**065\. Rain**

 

Late March 1886

 

            Rain is miserable. Vastra detests it. It sucks the heat out of her, chilling to the bone. It almost always washes away evidence and distorts scents that need tracking. It is disgusting, gloomy, and altogether intolerable.

            At least, that’s Vastra’s opinion.

            As Jenny joins her on the streets tonight, donning her new uniform—trousers, a blouse, a vest, and even a cravat and gloves—Vastra is introduced to a different perspective.

            The human girl shrieks with joy as they step out into the rain. For a few minutes, Vastra stands in the shelter of the entryway, watching, mesmerized. With no one to see this late, Jenny is kicking at puddles and, well, it can only be described as dancing. Not the formal dances or even the rowdy things Vastra has seen the apes perform in grand halls or bars. Jenny dances like one of the little humans, freely.

She does not even wear a cloak as they set off for the evening. Her maid will be fine, Vastra decides, considering she is a warm-blooded mammal. They are both drenched by the time they return several hours later, but Jenny is still smiling. Vastra bids her good night, eager to soak up the warmth of her bedroom fireplace, any fireplace in the house, really. Moving her wet locks out of her face, Jenny smiles.

            Jenny sneezes.


	51. Snow

**066\. Snow**

 

Early 1885

 

            Aching, Jenny sits back on her calves to take a short break from scrubbing the floor. She wipes her forehead with her bare arm and takes a gander out the window.

            “Ah! It’s starting to snow! Took long enough this year.”

 

            _Damnable cold!_ Vastra thinks, a little hiss echoing in her throat. The temperature is far too low for her liking; It’s slowing her down as she tails an ape that matches the description of the thief that the ape-police are too dull-witted to find themselves. Just when she is starting to get the hang of this bounty hunter role she has taken on, the very air has to make her pursuits more difficult.

            Something stings the tip of Vastra’s nose, and then soaks into the little crevices of skin under scales. She looks up. Tiny, white, and feather-like, hundreds—no thousands—of strange raindrops float to the ground. _What… on Earth…?_

 

            “Much better,” Jenny sighs, no that both the floor and her body are clean. As she exits the washroom, Jenny admires her handiwork in the apartment. And taking a peek out the window, she thinks, _Still snowing…_

            She frowns. _Seems a bit late, even for her…_ Jenny thinks, looking at the clock. For a minute, she fidgets, staring at the front door.

            “Hang it all,” Jenny says finally, grabbing her coat and stepping out the door. Once downstairs and outside, Jenny does not know exactly what she plans to do. She has no idea where her mistress might be in the city; with the snow coming down thickly now, she herself could be endangered by staying out too long trying to search. So Jenny looks down the abandoned street in both directions. Between the two options, the way to the right gives Jenny a greater feeling of dread, so she turns in that direction and starts walking.

             For about eight minutes, Jenny encounters little other than snow. She smiles as a hush settles over London. No, it’s not safe for a young lady to be out and about so late at night, but Jenny feels less frightened than she had expected to feel when first stepping off. Then, to her left, she sees an odd movement in the snow.

            Jenny trots over to get a better look, keeping a safe distance.

            “Uhhnnn.”

            “Ma’am!” Vastra lays face first in the snow. The movement Jenny saw was Vastra trying to push herself up off the ground. Jenny is at her side at once and pulls on Vastra’s shoulders, flipping her over.

            “God, you are frozen solid, ma’am!” Jenny exclaims. Vastra just groans. “Here we go,” Jenny says to her employer. She crouches down next to Vastra, pulls one of the creature’s arms around her shoulders, and heaves upward. “Ah! You could help a little, eh?” Jenny growls through clenched teeth. It’s no use; Vastra is completely dead weight.

            _All right then,_ Jenny thinks. _You can do this. It’s not far to the building. Just got to get inside, don’t think about the stairs just yet._

 

            “There!” Jenny yells, crumpling under Vastra’s weight she’s dragged them both to the apartment building. While Vastra lays on the floor, groaning and blue, Jenny pants, covered in sweat despite the cold outside. So much for that bath. For a moment, she can only breathe and lay there. She bends her neck, peering at the staircase just behind her head. “God,” she pants, “Grant me strength.” It’s a struggle the whole way up. She nearly drops Vastra down the stairs twice. But finally, finally, Jenny drags Vastra’s body into the apartment and drops her onto a chair near the fireplace.

            “What first, what first, what first?”

            Jenny throws coal on the fire and provokes it to new life until she thinks she might risk burning the building down. She realizes she is shivering uncontrollably herself, her clothes soaked through, so next, Jenny darts to her room and changes out of her dress.

Returning to Vastra, she considers what next she should do. _Her clothes are soaking_ … So Jenny starts to roughly remove the dress and leaves the under-blouse and skirts (which are blessedly dry) and takes it into the bedroom to dry next to the little fireplace there. She returns with several blankets, which she throws over Vastra’s torso. Still unsatisfied, Jenny pushes the chair as close to the fire as she dares.

 

            “Nnm…” Vastra opens her eyes slowly. The maid’s face. A fire. She looks down at herself in her chair, covered in blankets.

            “Here.” A steaming cup is shoved towards Vastra’s face. Slowly, she pulls an arm out from under the blankets and takes the tea.

            “What happened, ape?”

            “You tell me, ma’am,” Jenny says, having stepped away to start wiping up puddles on the floor. “You never came home. I found you a few blocks north of here half buried in snow.”

            “In what?”

            “Snow,” Jenny says.

            “The white drops?” Vastra asks, then sips at the tea.

            Jenny looks over at her. “You mean you’ve never seen snow?”

            Vastra doesn’t answer.

            “Well, whatever you did, don’t do it again, ma’am.” _You’re too bloody heavy to drag back here again_.

            “How did I get here?” Vastra asks, frowning.

            “I told you, ma’am. I went out and found you in a snowdrift. You were unconscious and _blue!_ Don’t know what trouble you got yourself in, but trust me, ma’am, you don’t want to get into it again.”

            Vastra remains silent. Instead, she considers the tea in her hand.


	52. Lightning

**067\. Lightning**

 

1893

 

            “Jenny?”

“What’s happening to her?!”

“Jenny, can you hear me?”

            “Speak to us, boy!”

            “Jenny!”

“You’re under attack!” River shouts, even as Vastra reaches for her wife. “You must wake up now! Just wake up! Do it!”

Vastra turns ready to release a volley of insults, but River has slapped her.

 

Blue eyes snap open. Vastra stands.

Men stand around the room, across from her and around the floor near Jenny’s chair. “Who are you? What have you done to her?” Vastra yells.

The men turn, faceless, snarling! But that is not what causes Vastra alarm—they are scentless! _Nothing on this planet should be scentless!_ For a less than a second, she is taken aback, a chill running through her. But only for the shortest of moments.

Then, Madame Vastra is like lightning. She’s crying out, launching over the table, lashing out with her tongue, clawing at the men, attacking, fighting her way to Jenny. But the men are impervious. Her tongue seems to touch thin air. Her blows strike nothing. Vastra is a freak storm in a vacuum.

She pauses on the ground next to her wife, surrounded on all sides. _No!_ Suddenly, she feels an eerie shiver at the base of her skull, hears a high pitched ringing in her ears, and everything fades to black.


	53. Thunder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning, this one gets a bit violent. But I really loved writing it.

**068\. Thunder**

 

November 1887

 

            “Be careful, Jenny.”

            The maid rolls her eyes at Vastra’s parting words. It is a Sunday. What could happen?

            _Well any number of things_ , Jenny admits to herself, thinking over her involvement in her mistress’s work with the Yard. She allows herself a little smugness, though, as she has improved tremendously in her swordsmanship in the last year and a half since she started properly training with a blade. Any number of things could happen, certainly, but Jenny feels confident in her abilities to handle a given situation. As it is Sunday and what’s more her day off, she has decided to go the East End to visit her family. Joining them for church would be a nice surprise, she is sure.

 

            Jenny mopes on her way back. Her family was neither at their flat nor at church. Disappointed and at a loss about what to do with the rest of her day, she finds herself sitting by her lonesome in Trafalgar Square.

            In the midst of her gloom, Jenny realizes that the Square is a fair bit busier than she might have expected. In fact, it seems to becoming quite crowded. She has been sitting here for hours but it seems like the wide plaza has filled with a crush of people. She stands, alarmed, then remembers the posters and newspaper advertisements. Already she is surrounded by East Enders like her, Irish immigrants, rural migrants, Jews from the continent. In the press around her, she’s forced toward the speakers.

            “Jenny?”

            “Jim!” Jenny exclaims, seeing her brother-in-law not far ahead from her.

            “What the Hell are you doing here?”

            “Oh you know, the SDF seemed worth a look.”

            Jim looks her over suspiciously. “Wouldn’t think you had it in you to be around our kind, what with your swanky job.”

            “Oi, you can’t blame me if half the time I come by _nobody’s home!_ It’s my day off today, came by the flat and the church and not one of you lot is in.”

            Jim looks away, focusing instead on the speakers starting up ahead of him. It dawns on Jenny that they haven’t seen each other since March of the previous year, when she was recovering from illness. Suddenly bitter, she looks ahead as well. It could be interesting actually. Jenny certainly has nothing against the liberals and socialists, and given unemployment these days she certainly agrees that Britain needs to change something. The Marxists are a bit nutter for her taste, but overall, Jenny identifies with those Londoners that the press has denoted as “the social problem.”

            But something is wrong. Jenny can’t explain what it is. In the midst of tens of thousands of protesters (and many more times spectators), she can sense something amiss. “Jim,” she says, standing alongside the unpleasant fellow now, “Jim, do you hear that?”

            “No, hush.”

            But something is wrong. Jenny looks around, but she’s too short to see beyond the masses around her. She looks down, and her eyes widen. The protesters and spectators, though many in number, are holding fairly still as they all strain to hear the speakers. So why is the ground trembling?

            “The police,” she says. “Jim, the police are coming. On horses!”

            No sooner does she say it than they hear the first shouts. Jim, the taller of the two, spins to face the sound, his eyes full of fear. “Well,” he says shakily, “I brought a club for a reason.”

            “Don’t be thick, Jim, we need to leave. Now!”

            Too late. The ruckus is rolling through the crowd, and Annie what’s-her-name is shouting abuse at the horsemen. Jenny grabs hold of Jim’s collar and yanks, pulling him after her. Judging by the noise, she estimates she’s heading neither towards nor away from the violence of the cops, but roughly parallel with their line. Running towards them could look like an attack, and running away always entices a hunter.

            “Owowow! Jenny, let go!” Jim shouts, standing upright roughly. As Jenny looks back, she realizes she has estimated incorrectly; a cop on horseback is swinging at Jim’s head with a club. He ducks just as another fellow thrusts a banner at the policeman, and the pair makes a run for it. They shimmy and squeeze and ram their way through the increasingly chaotic crowd, taking a few hits from a cop or protestor on their way out. Finally, they’re away, running full tilt up the road.

            “This way!” Jenny says, turning down an alleyway. For a second Jim just stands there, utterly befuddled how his sister-in-law—yes, a disagreeable, disreputable girl, but nonetheless clever—could possibly feel comfortable just ducking into an alleyway. Jenny returns, grabs Jim’s collar, and pulls him after her just as some soldiers are marching down the way they had come.

            “Soldiers! Jenny, they’re—!”

            “Hush!”

            She leads him on, running a little slower so Jim can keep up, winding through the alleyways until they’re about a mile away from the protest. They can still hear the fights, though. “It isn’t far to where I work,” Jenny says, pretending to be a little winded considering her brother-in-law’s condition. “You could get something to drink?”

            “No,” he says, grimacing as he pants. “God, Jenny, you’ve nearly killed me!”

            “No, Jim. That’s what might have happened if we hadn’t left when we did.”

            “Says you.”

            “Yeah, says me.”

 

            Jenny apologizes for her appearance when she arrives at Number Thirteen Paternoster Row and explains what has happened. Vastra had heard the distant roll of thunder of the police horsemen and the protesters’ fury. She’s so relieved that she actually hugs Jenny, which Jenny appreciates but rather wonders where her mistress got that idea.

            A few days pass and the press is calling it “Bloody Sunday,” even the conservative ones. That evening, an inspector of the Yard and a few policemen come to call on Vastra, and Jenny serves them drinks. Vastra motions for her to sit nearby to listen in. As they are wrapping up, Vastra does something remarkable. “Inspector, I have heard accounts of the incident at Trafalgar Square this Sunday past.”

            “Yes, Madame. The whole city is talking about it.”

            Vastra’s eyes pierce through her veil at each of the men seated before her, unmistakably aggressive. “Perhaps your gentlemen here might be put to better use preventing misfortunes from befalling the citizens of London, whatever their station, instead of being ordered onto their fellow humans like wild dogs.”

            The inspector, an older fellow, gapes at her like a fish, unable to find a response. The policemen all stand up, outraged, but unable to act without the inspector’s instruction.

            “You are dismissed,” Vastra states, barely concealing the venom in her voice as she stands to see her guests out.

 

            A week has passed since Bloody Sunday.

Jenny knows more protests—and more bloodshed—happened earlier today, but she is determined to focus. Her mistress depends on her more and more and Jenny will be damned if she disappoints Vastra’s confidence in her. Tonight is largely about reconnaissance, gathering information about some unusual behavior around the Tower of London. Finally Jenny convinces Vastra that the cold is turning her blue, and they begin to make their way back to Paternoster Row. Half a mile off, Jenny has to make Vastra lean against her body, barely able to support herself as her heart rate plummets. Her friend is so very cold! It’s as though Jenny is carrying an ice sculpture.

            The last half of a block Vastra insists on walking herself. She takes the lead down Paternoster Row.

            But something is wrong.

            A wave of nausea hits Jenny. “Ma’am, wait!”

            “Aagh!” Vastra snarls with pain. A man has stepped out of the shadows beside their door and dealt her a blow— _No, she’s stabbed!_ Vastra falls to the stairs hissing angrily. Jenny is at her side instantly, but she looks up to see the assailant making a run for it.

            Jenny stands, filled with rage.

            “Jenny, wait!” Vastra calls. But Jenny doesn’t hear. She is rage.

As she sprints after him, her fury thunders out of her throat, a blood-curdling war cry. In seconds, less than thirty meters from her home, Jenny is upon him. He turns to see her, and she delivers a powerful uppercut to his solar plexus that literally lifts him off of his feet and sends him crashing onto his.

Jenny knows his face as the cloth mask falls off. He was there last week, on horseback, trying to beat in her brother-in-law’s brains. He was here, in Jenny’s _home_ , drinking _her mistress’s_ brandy, in the company of the inspector.

She lays into him, first with her fists, and when he is losing the energy to protect himself with his arms, she starts kicking him, storming at him with her fierce battle cry. He bruises right in front of her, and she wants nothing more than to tear him limb from limb, and with one swift motion she has unsheathed her sword—

“Jenny! That is ENOUGH!”

Panting she turns. Vastra is still on the front steps, sitting up. Has she been calling for her to stop all this time? Jenny looks down at the cowardly attacker again. He’s barely conscious, and she suspects he’ll be entirely blue and green by sunrise. She looks once more back at Vastra… and sheathes her katana.

“Listen here, you,” she growls in his ear. “When you come to, and folks ask you what happened, you won’t be telling them you’ve been beat to pieces by a woman. What you will tell them is this: You were at the protests today, in plainclothes. A constable did this to you. And if I hear one word different—and I will hear it—I will personally see to it you lose whichever hand is your favorite. Savvy?”

He groans. Good enough.

Jenny drags him by his suspenders further down the street and into some decorative bushes the neighbors have. Satisfied, she dashes back to Number Thirteen, still panting from her storm. Vastra is glowering at her, but it’s different somehow from how her mistress usually looks when she’s angry.

“I’m- ”

“Apologize later. Help me up.”

Jenny obliges, bearing Vastra’s weight indoors. She brings her into the kitchen and turns on the stove to heat the room up quickly. Vastra sits in a chair at the little table, calmly clutching her side. Quietly, Jenny starts to unbutton the back of Vastra’s dress and eases the sleeve down on the side Vastra is guarding, careful to respect her mistress’s privacy by putting a hand up to block her own peripheral vision. She peeks at the wound, worrying that she should have stayed by Vastra, embarrassed by her emotional outburst. But in fact, the wound is not deep nor threatening anything vital. It’s more of a nasty cut than a true gash. _Jenny_ , she thinks to herself, _you are a fool! Of course she dodged the knife._

Nonetheless she bandages her mistress up, apologizing quietly for her behavior once she has finished. Vastra says nothing, just motions that Jenny may go.

            Vastra watches the human, head hung in shame, depart. _Goddess help me_ , she thinks, _that was…_


	54. Storm

**069\. Storm**

 

1889, sort of

 

            “Ma’am, I’m home,” Jenny calls through the house. “Ugh,” she groans, looking at the state she’s in. _Drenched!_ As she tries to wring out her clothes and wipe off her face. _Utterly useless thing_ , she thinks, looking at the remnants of an umbrella with contempt. “I saw Strax off for his weekend off before the rain set in. His train will be well on its way by now,” she continues.

            But no one answers.

“Ma’am?” Jenny calls again. _Well that is odd_ , she thinks, walking the length of the hallway and peering into each room. _Nothing in the conservatory… She can’t have gone out in this weather_. “Vastra?”

A sound upstairs causes Jenny to look up. She mounts the stairs, wiping her wet hair away from her face. “Vastra!” Jenny exclaims upon opening the door to their bedroom. Her lover is sitting on the floor right next to the door with no light but a few candles. Vastra doesn’t even look up at Jenny. She’s flicking her tongue, glaring at the window across from her.

“My darling, what’s the matter?” Jenny says, crouching down in front of Vastra, placing a hand on her knee.

“You’re soaked.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Jenny says with a smile. “Truly terrible weather. I’ve never seen a storm like it.”

Vastra shudders.

“Vastra,” Jenny coos, “Are you frightened by the storm of all things?”

“No!”

Jenny gives her that look. That look that says ‘I am not impressed with whatever you are doing so therefore, you going to stop right now.’ So, Jenny sits next to her beloved, squeezing herself between the Silurian and the wardrobe.

“It is not the storm exactly,” Vastra says, daring a glance at Jenny. “You better not take ill.”

“Oi, don’t change the subject.”

“…Long ago,” Vastra whispers. “I recall a storm like this…”

 

 

            “Any questions?” the captain said. “If not, you know we do not have much time. Get to the transport pods now!”

            The room full of scientist-soldiers dispersed. They each wore some mark of their tribe; Vastra’s mark was a blouse hand-embroidered by her master, denoting her rank and achievement as a swordswoman and warrior. She ran from the briefing room to the furthest set of transport pods. As she took her stance, Vastra glanced out at the hundreds of others already headed to their respective tribes’ hibernation chambers. Already they were shimmering out of sight, and Vastra wondered who would survive.

            _Focus_ , she told herself. _Pod to the surface, take the hover disc to the tribe’s Shelter, start the hibernation systems._ She took a knee, and her pod automatically shot her up to the surface.

            “Gods!” she cried out.

            A torrential storm, the likes of which she had never witnessed, nearly blew Vastra off her feet. “Get up!” she shouted at herself, but the wind was so loud that the words were swept out of her mouth.

            Vastra ran. It was horrible. The storm was destroying the university and city to which she had been called back to learn how to engage the systems that would save her tribe… If she could just get to the hover disc. She dodged as trees fell and buildings collapsed under the force of the impossible storm. Lightening struck behind her, causing the earth to ripple, and she was launched into the air. Landing heavily on her side, Vastra grimaced.

            A panel on the building above began to fall.

            Vastra scrambled out of the way, and did not look back when the enormous metal plate crashed behind her. _Almost there!_

            “NO!” A tree had fallen on only disc at the university’s old hover station. “No no no! The gods have damned me, no!” Vastra pulled the broken disc from under the tree and threw it into the storm. “Aaarrrh!”

            The rain froze Vastra to the bone. But she had to think! While the others would have taken pods to hover shuttles waiting to take them all across the region, her tribe’s ancient homeland was not so very far away. If she was correct, not far outside the city limits was another hover station, and from there she could get to her tribe’s land quickly. She had to make it. _So run_.

            Rain and ice and fire attacked Vastra from every side. The road was impassible and too long besides, but Vastra began to wish she had not decided to run straight across country. She was so cold, she feared she would die any moment. But she ran as fast as she could for the whole four miles. Finally, she saw the marker for the hover station. _Please, please let there be a disc!_

            Vastra ducked into the station. It was completely abandoned, including all five station discs. “Thank the Sun!” she cried. The disc was a little out of date, but it was easy to program the destination. She stood on it and away she went.

            The journey was miserable in the rain, and the wind nearly tore Vastra right out of the disc’s boot-locks several times. Lightning strikes seemed to follow her, encouraged by the powerful little transportation device. Just as she was preparing herself for death, Vastra saw the ruins that marked the outskirts of her ancient tribe’s land.

            She unlocked her boots and leaped from the disc into the old courtyard. “Go! Go!” she shouted at a sister—who, she couldn’t tell in the rain—waiting at the bunker’s entrance.

            “Come on, Vastra!” the sister called. She ushered Vastra inside. They had no time for proper greetings; first Vastra, then her sister, jumped the whole length of the stairs to the lower level.

            “Hurry!”

            Vastra and her sister took their stances on newly installed transport pods. In the blink of an eye, they were deep underground, so deep that Vastra felt the heat of her beloved planet seep through her wet clothes.

            “Something’s wrong,” Vastra said to her green-eyed sister.

            “What kept you delayed?”

            “The hover disc was crushed. The storm is tearing the city apart.”

            “The gods have damned us!”

            “Quickly, explain!” Vastra hisses.

            “The delay. The system has some extra pressure from—”

            “All right, all right. Come then, let’s get you in your hibernation chamber.”

            “Will you be able to get to the Sentinels’ station without assistance?” the sister asked.

            Vastra and other warriors of her tribe had been assigned to hibernate in a Sentinel station closer to the Earth’s surface, which would awaken in the case of a disturbance above that would threaten the major hibernation stations within the region…

            “Yes, now go.”

            As the sister ran for her chamber, Vastra stood at the control panel. “Shut up!” she shouted at the alarm. With the press of a few buttons, it obeyed. “Now then…” Vastra set the systems to begin the hibernation process. What Vastra knew that her tribe did not was that their civilian station and the Sentinel one above would be linked. She pressed the button to link the two; once she reached the Sentinel station and keyed into her chamber, the warriors above would be placed into stasis. If a disaster befell the sisters above, the linked system would awaken her people below to provide proper aid and services for the warriors.

What even Vastra did not know at that time was that this would in fact lead to the execution of her entire tribe.

            Vastra looked up from the console, finished. She knew she needed to run back to the transport pod. But once she looked around the room, she could not leave. A deep silence overtook her.

It was so small compared to the one she had toured in the city. While she had been away, some of her kind had decorated it with tapestries, bits of their ruins, and relics of their ancestors. In the hundred or so chambers, her people were already asleep. Nearby, the males stood in stasis: Eight adults, two adolescents, and a hatchling of barely fifteen years. Hope.

Just beyond, Vastra recognized sisters, some of which shared her genetic line. What would become of them all?

 _Time to go_ , she thought. Vastra turned from the console and stepped onto the transport pod. The room she arrived in felt warm, but she knew it was an artificial heater instead of the Earth’s own core. A ring of roughly thirty sisters, warriors all, stood in their chambers. They were not in stasis yet, but most held their eyes shut, secretly afraid. Not that Vastra could tell; the military masks limited even her sight.

Vastra strode towards the control panel. It felt very slow, even though she knew her body must be moving quite quickly. Everything checked out, all systems were functioning at full capacity. Should anything malfunction, she would be the first to awaken. She looked up. One chamber remained unoccupied.

Thousands of years. In a box. Frozen, like the ruins that made up the scenery of her past. Vastra saw the storm raging above taking over her own body and mind, and she never knew fear could have such power.

 _If anything goes wrong, you will wake up,_ she thought. _You will wake up before anyone else, you will be able to take care of whatever happens before anyone else is endangered. You have been trained, you can do this._

So Vastra stepped forward, into the chamber. At her left, she entered her key code.

In stasis, most Silurians did not dream. But for millions of years, Vastra dreamt of the storm.

 

            Jenny.

            Vastra leans into Jenny, who cradles her face. With her other arm, Jenny caresses Vastra’s arm. Gentle, warm lips touch her crown as the storm rages above Paternoster Row. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to write a huge note about astrophysics and how un-sciency Doctor Who can be and how it irritates me, but meh.


	55. Broken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the first half is not, but the latter half is very much mature, you are warned!

**070\. Broken**

 

Fall 1888

 

            “Jenny!” Vastra calls. “I am home. Unharmed and whole, I might add.” Vastra locks the front door behind her, ever vigilant, and calls again. “Jenny?” She listens a moment, then turns.

            “My dear?” Vastra says, entering the kitchen. “Why did you not…?”

            Jenny sits at the little kitchen table, her forehead braced by her thumb and forefinger as her elbow drives into the wood. Her other hand rests beside her, drawing little circles with her fingers. She does not look up at Vastra.

            “Jenny, what’s wrong?” asks Vastra, coming to sit alongside her companion. She reaches out for Jenny’s hand.

            “Oh!” Jenny breathes, turns, looks elsewhere, pulls away. “I…”

            “Have I done something?” Vastra feels a little hurt by Jenny’s retreat.

            “Ah,” Jenny sighs, glancing over her shoulder at Vastra. “No, not you, darling.” She sniffles, takes a deep breath. Vastra watches, her concern growing.

            “Are you well?”

            “I am,” Jenny says, “afraid not.” Finally she turns back so Vastra can at least see part of her face. Quickly, Jenny rubs the palm of her hand against an eye. They are red, Vastra can tell, and they seem to have a great deal more moisture to them than usual.

            “You are ill?”

            Jenny shakes her head no. She motions down to a piece of paper on the opposite side of the table. From across the room, Vastra had thought it was a file, but now she can see it to be an envelope, already opened, with the letter stuffed back inside.

            “I received a letter from my family today,” Jenny explains.

            Vastra dislikes the letter at once without knowing what is written there. She lays her hands on the table, where Jenny can see them, and watches her companion.

            Jenny takes another breath, looking up at the ceiling, now down at her hands. “I have had difficulties seeing them.”

            “Yes.”

            “I’ll come to visit and no one’s home, the whole lot of them gone.”

            Vastra waits.

            With a sigh, Jenny takes the leap. “Apparently, they do not wish to see me anymore… not ever, in fact.”

Vastra’s brow furrows, glancing at the paper.

            “I am disowned,” Jenny says finally, her voice quivering. “They didn’t even post it, they left it by their door, they knew I was coming to call and ran.”

            Vastra keeps looking between the letter and Jenny. “They have… been avoiding you.”

            “Yes, and now this!” Jenny says, standing abruptly to walk towards the kitchen window. She stands there leaning her hips against the windowsill, her arms crossed.

            Vastra stays where she is seated. While she suspects she does not understand the full implications of what has transpired, she wants to be very careful. She will listen and maintain a safe distance. She will not read, let alone touch, the letter, nor will she touch Jenny until she is certain that is an appropriate behavior.

            “Was there any warning?”

            “They’d been avoiding me,” Jenny says, as if it’s obvious. _It’s obvious now_ , she thinks. “They stopped accepting the money I sent home to help with things.”

            “When was this?”

            “Started about six months ago, I suppose. I mean,” Jenny says, walking again, “I knew. I knew they didn’t want to see me, really. I just… didn’t know why.”

            Vastra weighs her options before proceeding.

            “Why?”

            Jenny sighs shakily. Finally, she sits down next to Vastra again, who turns to face her. Lightly, Jenny places a hand on Vastra’s, who takes hold.

            “Do you remember when my brother-in-law came to visit me? While I was ill?”

            Vastra nods.

            “He… ah… said some things that implied… he thought I was receiving special treatment from you, and that I was earning that treatment by some unspecified improper behavior…”

            “Such as…?”

            “Well,” Jenny says, unable to look Vastra in the eye, yet holding onto her hand all the tighter. “Perhaps he figured out the two of us before we did. Certainly before I did.”

            “You mean that he would find the current status of our relationship inappropriate.”

            “Aye, ma’am,” Jenny says. “And he’s gone and told my whole family that!” she continues, rising again, newly animated. “Like he has the right! And at that point, we weren’t!”

            “…We were not,” Vastra says, a little concerned about where this might be going.

            “So then he’s lying. A filthy, rotten liar! Turning my whole family to reject me, without any proof! And even so!” Jenny is shouting now. She turns, to look at Vastra. “Why should it matter?” Suddenly, Jenny is very interested in her fingers. “Why should it matter that I… that is, we…” Vastra cannot wait any longer, not now that she is reassured. She gets up and walks to Jenny and stands right in front of her. She holds Jenny’s face in her hands and kisses her brow.

            Jenny whimpers. Without a word, Vastra wraps her arms around Jenny. Again, she kisses Jenny. As her dear one strives to control her breathing, Vastra realizes that she might never experience the pain that Jenny is going through right now.

She understands it to a certain degree—as much as a Silurian can understand a human in any regard—but while Vastra must alone suffer the pain of the loneliness for her species and tribe, she is also spared the pressures, expectations, and judgment her society could (and would) have placed on her were she and Jenny’s situations switched. Certainly, Vastra has learned of the expectations of this society of apes, but it rarely exerts pressure on her unless she allows it for convenience. (For example, _not_ being attacked or skinned by ignorant, lesser beasts is very much desirable, and far more convenient to achieve by hiding her face in public than by trying to teach every human she meets.)

But Jenny is of this place and time. What’s more, while they would both be judged harshly by their own kinds for choosing to cross boundaries of species, only Jenny would be ostracized for seeking companionship among fellow females, as the case proves. Vastra might be lonely, but she can rejuvenate from her memories of caring sisters and acceptance. Jenny’s loneliness for her own kind, on the other hand, carries little hope for reparation.

“I am sorry, Jenny.”

Jenny says nothing for a while. Then she asks, “Did you… make any progress tonight?”

Vastra sighs this time. The case of “Jack the Ripper” is proving to be more nightmarish than she had originally estimated.

“Unfortunately, not.”

Jenny nods, sullen.

“You know why I cannot have you assisting me on this case, my dear,” Vastra implores. “I cannot guarantee you will be protected, and I would never forgive myself should something more than that scar there befall you,” she says, nodding towards Jenny’s jawline.

“And who’s guaranteeing me that you’re protected?” Jenny asks.

            “I…” But there’s nothing Vastra can say to that. She has hurt Jenny, too, on top of everything else. Yes, Jenny agreed to the compromise, but nonetheless.

Vastra steps back. _What would I do_ , she thinks, _were our situations switched?_ Probably shout, rant, and generally make a fool of herself in front of her elders. Jenny, on the other hand, has handled all of this disappointment with grace, like a great warrior should. She decides perhaps she ought to give her companion some privacy.

            Vastra slinks out of the room. A third of the way up the stairs to her bedroom, Jenny dashes out of the kitchen. “Wait! Please.” Vastra looks back.

Jenny pauses, then she climbs up the stairs until she is level with her mistress. “Please don’t leave me alone.” Jenny leans into Vastra as she whispers. Vastra wraps her arms around Jenny again, bewildered and saddened that her own loneliness is shared.

 

            For a while, they sleep in Vastra’s bed. But Vastra wakes up in the middle of the night (by her standards, at least, since she stays out very late most nights). She finds that her dear a— _human, she’s a human_ —has curled up next to her in sleep. In the moonlight, the skin on Jenny’s face glows. As do her hands, which Vastra sees now are clinging to her own nightgown.

            “Jenny?” Vastra whispers. But she does not wake. Vastra watches her for a moment and then strokes Jenny’s back. “I’m here, my dear.” She closes her eyes again, continues to caress the shaken little human.

            “Vastra?”

            “Yes? Did I wake you, my dear?”

            “No, I was… dreaming,” Jenny says as the dream leaks from her memory. A hand rubs her back and side, Vastra’s hand. Jenny sighs peacefully and concentrates on the touch. Her brown eyes look at Vastra’s face. She offers her lover a little kiss at the corner of her mouth as thanks.

            Vastra kisses back. The touch of her scales brings new warmth to Jenny’s heart. They exchange sleepy kisses for a while, reminding each other of their presence and companionship. Jenny holds Vastra’s face for a longer exchange, and the pleasant transfer of warmth causes Vastra’s tongue to flick Jenny’s lips reflexively. A little sound escapes Jenny’s throat. Perhaps a little surprised by each other, the pair separates, asking with their eyes.

            It is Jenny who acts first. She pulls Vastra back to her, kisses her, holds her tight. Her fingers pull up the hem of the nightgown to trace the length of Vastra’s spine, delicately following the pattern of her scales. Vastra quivers. Wherever Jenny touches, little trails of heat follow.

            Suddenly, Jenny rolls on top of Vastra, still kissing her. But her hands pull at Vastra’s nightgown until it has come up over her crown, and then they come back down to cup her mistress’s face, her shoulders, her waist. Vastra reaches up to touch, but her hands are swatted away. Jenny sits up, straddling Vastra’s hips. With such patience it is almost painful for Vastra to watch, Jenny lifts her own nightgown off. The image of Jenny’s body, her whole body being slowly revealed, shining in the moonlight, surrounded by the darkness of ebony hair, the look in her dark eyes positively _Silurian_ , is one Vastra will remember for a long time. Now, with her dear Jenny on such display, Vastra can barely breathe.

            Jenny leans down and kisses Vastra deeply. She must know, Jenny needs this love of hers to know that despite the letter, despite her own stinging pride, despite her very fear for Vastra’s own safety, she loves her. Because should either one of them find themselves truly alone again, she needs to know that Vastra understands. So Jenny strokes the green armor decorating Vastra’s muscled form. Beaded fingers pull on her back, bringing her downward, until once again she lies atop Vastra.

            She presses her hips against Vastra’s, involuntarily expressing her desire, and as Jenny rubs against hard scales, another sound escapes her throat. This time, the sound is not so little.

            Vastra pulls her lips and tongue away from Jenny. “I love you, my dear.”

            Before Jenny can respond, Vastra lifts them both into a seated position (in Jenny’s case, a straddling position). Even as they rise, she places her lips around the gem at Jenny’s breast. While one of her hands still clutches Jenny’s waist, another reaches down into Jenny’s curls. Her dear Jenny gasps and clings to Vastra’s neck and crown a moment. Then she melts into Vastra’s strokes, pressing her body as close as she can. She kisses the top of Vastra’s head, strokes Vastra’s arms and back, wraps her legs around Vastra’s hips. Finally, knowingly, Jenny extends her hands to the little ridges along Vastra’s spine, settling around the spikes at the small of her back.

            The Silurian breathes in sharply as the tiniest pulses in Jenny’s body echo into her own. She nibbles at Jenny’s nipples a moment, then looks up.

            “I love you,” Jenny says, kissing Vastra. “I’ll always stay with you.”

            Vastra hums, smiling, and enjoys another one of Jenny’s gasps as her fingers enter her lover. For good measure, she lets her tongue wander over Jenny’s body. The little beads of sweat are delicious, and Jenny shivers violently as her tongue rubs over both her nipples and her clit.

            As tempted as she is by the ripples of pleasure she feels through her empathic ridges, Vastra takes her time with Jenny, enjoying every sound that comes raging out of her. Finally, after hours of slow, steady encouragement, Jenny’s body bucks wildly, explodes, sending bursts of starlight and peace and pain through Vastra, too.

Tonight, Jenny Flint might be broken, but she is not alone.


	56. Fixed

**071\. Fixed**

 

1892

 

            “Darling, I’m fine!” Jenny insists. “Strax has patched me up. Look, all fixed!” She swings her legs off the edge of the bed, displaying them for Vastra. In her nightgown, Jenny almost looks like a cheery child.

            “The Doctor helped, of course,” Vastra says, not entirely convinced.

            “The Doctor? He was here?”

            “You don’t remember?”

            Jenny doesn’t. Perhaps she had been in worse shape than she thought. “Well, it’s all a bit hazy, ma’am.”

            “I should think,” Vastra mumbles, the memory of Jenny’s pained screams still fresh in her mind. “It was… an impressive fall.”

            “That I do remember,” Jenny says, nodding, altogether not nearly terrified enough in Vastra’s opinion. “But we escaped, and I am well. I say, let’s take a look at the records we snatched.” She leans forward to stand, but her legs won’t support her. Jenny frowns down at her knees, confused.

            “Jenny, do you know what day it is?”

            “Sunday, I should think.”

            “It’s Tuesday.”

            Jenny gapes. “What? I… I slept for three whole days?”

            “It was quite a fall,” Vastra repeats. “You were… severely wounded.”

            At that, Jenny looks up nervously. “How bad was it?”

            Vastra hesitates. But sooner or later, every warrior must face her own vulnerability. “Both of your legs were broken, as were a number of ribs. You were bleeding internally. Bones in your skull were bruised, your jaw cracked, and your left shoulder was dislocated. And you had a smattering of small puncture wounds from bits of the roof you fell through.”

            Jenny stares dumbly at the floor. “Wh-… How did… I…”

            Vastra takes a shaky breath. “If Strax had not arrived immediately, you would have died; if the Doctor did not come to help, you might still have died, or you might have been maimed… permanently.”

            Jenny whimpers.

Quickly, Vastra sits next to her, fearful that she has said too much. “I don’t mean to frighten you, my dear. I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry!” Jenny says, looking at Vastra. “I could have _died_?”

Vastra nods.

“Well I better start fixing the gents a cake or something…”

Jenny’s wife wraps her arm around Jenny’s waist and sets her chin on Jenny’s shoulder. _Jenny, Jenny, Jenny… Ever positive._

She looks down at Vastra’s face and smiles lovingly. She kisses her green forehead and raises her hand to Vastra’s cheek.

“I am all right now.”

“Yes, you are, my dear.”

“Are you all right, darling?”

“I will be, Jenny.”

“Good. Would you help me to the washroom?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prelude to this will come later.


	57. Light

**072\. Light**

 

Spring 1885

 

            _“Baah!”_

_The man, thrown into the police station, landed on his back and rolled. He coughed violently, air ripped from his lungs. The officers on duty stepped back, shocked. They looked up._

_“You again!”_

_Vastra, safely hidden in the depths of her hood, simply smiled._

_“Collins, you deal with him,” one of the policemen said, toeing the man on the floor. He walked up to the hooded figure, blowing steam. He started counting bills from a safe under his desk. If this bounty hunter kept showing up, he would run out of money for paying rewards. “There,” he said, putting the banknotes in Vastra’s outstretched hand. “Now get out.”_

_“Gladly,” Vastra hissed, relishing the look of frightened wonder on the ape’s face_.

 

            Vastra chuckles to herself, going over the memory in her mind. She turns a corner. Although she is headed back to her apartment, Vastra is admittedly meandering. Somehow, the stink of this ape city lessens in the early morning, and the sunrise gives it an appearance of being slightly less disgusting. As it happens, Vastra looks across the skyline and, just a block over she assumes, she can see the top of the London Library. _I have not visited in quite a while,_ Vastra thinks. Indeed, she had taken to sending the ape-girl out for her own copies of these ape-books, desperate for any information on the millions of years of sleep Vastra has so recently ended.

            As the apes slowly begin their day, Vastra picks her way to the Library, exploring a few alleyways on the way to add to her mental map of the city. When she enters, the building is largely disserted. Except for the librarian who, recognizing Vastra’s peculiar stride and hood, glares at her. Which makes Vastra smile.

            She starts down an aisle of books, walks aimlessly through the various shelves and collections. Her gloved hands stream across the books, occasionally stopping to pick one up and read a few lines or examine the fascinating way humans bind their papers together in leather or cloth. _I shall have to bring Jenny here sometime,_ Vastra thinks absently. Indeed, she wanders all over the premises (to the great annoyance of the present employee of the establishment) until she stumbles upon something she has never examined before.

            _Poetry?_ Vastra wonders at the collection title. While the Doctor’s Tardis left her in unusual command of the English language even after his departure, Vastra cannot come up with a Silurian equivalent. She sounds the word out internally. Still nothing. Looking at the nearest bookcase, she picks out a hardback at random, opens it to a random page.

 

_I've quenched my lamp, I struck it in that start_

_Which every limb convulsed, I heard it fall­_

_The crash blent with my sleep, I saw depart_

_Its light, even as I woke, on yonder wall;_

_Over against my bed, there shone a gleam_

_Strange, faint, and mingling also with my dream…._

 

            “What is this?” Vastra mutters, confused. She puts the book back and stares at it. Glancing at the next shelf over, she pounces on another random tome, this one smaller, only to discover something yet more strange.

 

_Sunset and evening star,_

_And one clear call for me!_

_And may there be no moaning of the bar,_

_When I put out to sea,_

_But such a tide as moving seems asleep,_

_Too full for sound and foam,_

_When that which drew from out the boundless deep_

_Turns again home._

_Twilight and evening bell,_

_And after that the dark!_

_And may there be no sadness of farewell,_

_When I embark;_

_For tho' from out our bourne of Time and Place_

_The flood may bear me far,_

_I hope to see my Pilot face to face_

_When I have crost the bar._

 

            Vastra replaces this book as well, more slowly than the first. Words, turned into… songs, unsung. Rhymed feeling, made pure, yet unclear. She struggles to think of a Silurian equivalent. Perhaps those outside the warrior class knew of such things. Then, her eye catches a book further down the row. Slowly, she approaches, tugs the book out, and gently opens it, fingers ringing at the sound of cracking pages.

 

_Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?_

_Thou art more lovely and more temperate:_

_Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,_

_And summer’s lease hath all too short a date:_

_Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,_

_And often is his gold complexion dimm’d;_

_And every fair from fair sometime declines,_

_By chance or nature’s changing course untrimm’d;_

_But thy eternal summer shall not fade_

_Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest;_

_Nor shall Death brag thou wander’st in his shade,_

_When in eternal lines to time thou growest:_

_So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,_

_So long lives this and this gives life to thee._

 

            Vastra looks the page over, then the next. “That’s it?” she asks the book, looking back and forth around the little section of words, hoping for more. Finding that this unit is in fact the whole of what it is meant to be, she reads it again. And a third time.

            She departs the library, taking the book with her.

 

1\. Charlotte Bronte, Pilate’s Wife’s Dream; 2. Lord Alfred Tennyson, Crossing The Bar; 3. Shakespeare, Sonnet 18 (The one he writes for Martha Jones, according to Doctor Who)

 

 

1889

 

            “And what’s that one?” Jenny asks, pointing.

            Strax sits cross-legged on the floor with a wide array of gadgets and gizmos aplenty laid out around him. Jenny sits in front of him on a little ottoman just outside the perimeter of his things.

            “That is a force field generator,” Strax replies, checking it off on his pad of paper, adding, “Something your puny alien mind could barely understand.”

            “Explain, then,” Jenny says. Strax remains oblivious to her glare, as well as her knowing grin.

            “Well, it creates a wall through which no enemy combatant can pass, using the closest perpendicular beams or walls as guides.”

            “No one?”

            Strax pauses. “Most enemy combatants.”

            “Uh-huh. What about up?”

            “Up?”

            “Well what if you’re outside?” Jenny asks. “What if your ‘enemy combatant’ can climb or fly or something?”

            “Silence, boy,” Strax mutters. “You are distracting me from important inventorying!”

            “Very sorry,” Jenny says instantly, already looking over the lights and buttons below. “What’s that one?”

            “Well my dear boy, that will destroy you on impact when I throw it into the window of your fortress, as it is a grenade.” Strax checks off another box.

            “Fascinating,” Jenny says, mentally taking note to search out and hide those when next possible. “And what’s this then?”

            “An insta-medic.”

            “A what?”

            Strax gives Jenny a patronizing look. “It is a nurse’s tool. You use it to assess the victim for injuries and disease.”

            “That’s what Vastra used on you at—”

            “Silence, boy!”

            She ignores him. “So does it only work on Sontarans, then?”

            “Of course not! I was sentenced to be a nurse for non-Sontarans as an even graver punishment. That, my dear lad, will assess any alien that the great Sontaran Empire has dissected and studied in the last millennia.”

            “Charming,” Jenny says, eyeing Strax as he checks off another box. “So what, it takes a picture or something? Inside?”

            Strax sighs impatiently. “No it does not, it uses a signal from—”

            “Does it just look at people? Or does it actually do something?”

            “—apex… Yes, it does things!”

            This pattern continues through the afternoon. Vastra, sitting across the hallway with a cuppa and a stack of files to read, listens with amusement.

            About an hour later sensing Strax is on his last reserves of patience, Jenny stands. She carefully steps around his array of tools, gently touching his shoulder as she passes by. Vastra looks up as her dear Jenny enters. Apparently she stopped by the kitchen on her way as she takes a bite of a juicy apple.

            “Did you learn anything, dear?” Vastra asks, have jesting.

            “I did, ma’am,” Jenny nods. “I might actually borrow a few of his gadgets to try out.”

            Vastra looks up immediately, wide-eyed.

            “Oh not the grenades!” Jenny says. Vastra chuckles. They sit together at the dark table in quiet. When Jenny has finished her apple, stem and all, she stands. “I suppose I ought to get started on dinner,” she says. As she passes Vastra, Jenny rubs her shoulder and gives her a peck on the brow.

            Vastra hums to herself, watching Jenny depart. A little later, she hears Strax making his first trip carrying his collection back up to his room, and Vastra, still a little distrustful of the Sontaran, moves to an angle from which she can watch his entire journey up the hall and stairs. Much to her pleasant surprise, she can easily observe a lightness in his step, and she very much suspects the cause is working away in the kitchen.


	58. Dark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing is said explicitly, but nonetheless a trigger warning: sex trafficking and violence are strongly implied in this chapter. It was hard to write.

**073\. Dark**

 

July 1886

 

The lamps on this street are hardly ever lit properly. If residents complain, no one particularly cares to address the situation. People here are poor and far enough out that their malaise will not bother the higher classes of town. If residents complain, they don’t for long.

In the shadows behind the whiskey establishment, some women and one man engage drunks in the oldest profession. Two women stand apart, just on the other side of the corner facing the alley. Both stand near the bar window passing a little light to them, but they are both careful not to come to close. They stand facing each other: one stands upright, on guard, watching her surroundings with a hand near her hip, while the other leans against the wall, shoulders bare, smoking a cigarette—a relatively recent form of inhaling tobacco.

            The smoking woman breathes deeply, relaxing into the wall as smoke curls elegantly out of her mouth. “Well poppet, what brings you to my abode on such a lovely evening?”

            “Madame…”

            “It is lovely to see you, poppet. Though I had heard you’re becoming a respectable little lady now,” the woman says, and pauses to relish another pull at her cigarette, “working for a well-off foreigner of some kind, hmm?” She smiles.

            “Aye,” Jenny says, “That’s what brings me here.”

            “Poppet, surely you jest,” the Madame says with a grey-toothed grin. She speaks slowly, having long since learned the value of enjoying pleasant company.

            “No, ma’am. I know you have ears like a fox. Surely you have heard the rumors in the shadows. Of a cloaked woman? Unafraid of the night?” Jenny asks. The Madame nods, slowly, watching her acquaintance through the corner of her eye. “She needs information.”

            “Word is this cloaked creature was not to be trusted. That she’s part-sewer creature. It’s all a might bit unlikely for me to believe so easily.”

            “You trust me, though.”

            She chuckles. “Aye, I do love the kiddies from your parish, always such good tykes, given the coppers bad directions.”

            Jenny smiles. It’s not that she’s happy, but she is about to get what she wants.”

            “How many are missing, Madame?”

            Smoke billows out of her mouth like a chimney. Slowly, cautiously, the woman turns, edging ever so slightly closer to the window’s light. “How do you know about that?”

            “I was one once, wasn’t I? I’m not so far away from my old streets as people might think.”

            She snorts at Jenny. “Obviously!” But she pauses before her next drag on her cigarette. “Every year a few children go missing, you well know. Disease, picked clean by scoundrels, shipped off to some better-off relative, and you never hear of the child again. This is different. A healthy boy selling apples everyday with his father is just gone. Not one match girl but a whole herd of them missing. Rich, poor, doesn’t matter. You’re right, poppet, I have ears and from what I hear it ain’t just us.”

            “Tell me more.”

            “Hmm… There is a rumor, poppet. I’ve only heard it once or twice so I can’t say whether it’s real talk or wishing. But someone saw a line of little ones and a man—least she thinks it was a man—with them.”

            “That could be a factory overseer,” Jenny shakes her head.

            “No! Listen, poppet, she knows the man! The shape of him. What he does for his daily bread, we don’t know, but he is no factory man. He doesn’t dress right.”

            Jenny considers this. “Where can I see him myself?”

            “You’d have to talk to her who knows him, poppet.”

            Jenny’s hand reaches into the window’s light, a guinea glinting. The Madame smiles at that. “Well your situation has improved!” She accepts the offer and gives Jenny a name. “Only a little bit left on this,” she sighs afterward, looking down at the cigarette. She holds it out. The younger woman hesitates, but then accepts. Jenny hates the stuff, but she’ll be damned if she insults a dependable informant like this woman of the night. Done, she returns the cigarette and walks away into the night.

 

            Vastra is pleased with her assistant’s work. She decides to let Jenny meet the new contact on her own while Vastra tries to teach their contact, Inspector Smith, the meaning of common sense and the depth of his ineptitude. With some luck, Scotland Yard will assign them someone else—anyone else—to work with.

Dressed as a maid, Jenny goes to the market the Madame named. Sure enough, in a gaudy, patched, purple dress is the young lady on the corner, calling after gentlemen. As the maid walks up, the woman balks.

            “No, I don’t do girls, too much screaming.”

            Jenny doesn’t understand her meaning, so she jumps straight to the point. “I’m here to talk to you about the children you saw and the man you recognize.”

            She does a double-take. “You with the cops?”

            “Not exactly.” Jenny explains her contact with the Madame, and the girl (she’s much too young to be a woman, Jenny decides) trusts her immediately. They sneak to the other end of the market, keeping some distance between them so as to avoid unwanted attention. With a small hand motion, the girl tells Jenny to stay where she is and wait. She nods her head to the right. Gradually, Jenny turns her head in the direction indicated, pretending to eye some nearby potato sacks. Out of the corner of her eye, she catches glances of various men, bumping into each other and trying to pass by someone and talking with one another. Frustrated, she is about to glare back at the purple-dressed girl when she sees something unusual.

            A man in dirty, oily rags is accompanied by a boy. Although the child looks like he could use a bath and might have been boxed around the ears last night, he wears finer clothing than his chaperon. Nothing too fancy, but decidedly middle-class under the layer of dirt. Jenny looks away for a moment. She strolls to the other side of the stand she’s next to and turns to look again. The man is talking to someone, she can’t tell who in all the hub-bub of servants trying to haggle prices with merchants. But she can make out the top of a hat, the lavender color of a glove.

            With a nod to the girl in the purple dress, Jenny departs.

 

            Over the course of two more days, Jenny and Vastra take turns watching the market. Jenny wishes she could mingle in the market as she did before, but Vastra insists on the necessity of their uniforms in this location—her Silurian garb and her cloak, Jenny’s trousers and vest—which would not blend in well below. Vastra ignores Jenny’s pout. Her assistant knows perfectly well that climbing to a well-hidden but appropriate outlook cannot be done in a dress.

            They see the man in rags five times. Each time he is accompanied by a child, and usually a different child accompanies him each time. Jenny does not recognize the hats or gloves of anyone to whom he speaks. By the end of their fifth sighting, Vastra and Jenny nod to each other. They will wait.

            Night falls late this time of year, and the merchants close up shop accordingly. As Londoners depart, fleeing the danger of the dark, Vastra and Jenny remain watchful from their perch.

            Before midnight, Jenny sees it.

            “Vastra,” she whispers, poking her mistress awake. “Look.”

            The man in rags is walking quietly by, a few blocks away, and something follows behind him, its movements peculiar. Vastra can see more clearly than Jenny can in this light, but says nothing. Finally, she sniffs and hisses, the look of a predator in her blue eyes.

            “Come along, Jenny.”

            They scurry along the rooftops along the street. Jenny keeps one hand on the hilt of her sword to prevent it from moving around too much. Vastra moves gracefully her twin katanas and short sword (it has a proper name, Jenny knows, something with a ‘w’) are silent and still next to her as they run. The Silurian takes the lead in the descent, using an easy route down for Jenny to follow. She stands at the bottom, watching her pupil land before she turns back to the chase. Her tongue flicks out, tasting the air. Although the man is out of sight, his scent is fresh and painfully easy to track.

            “This way,” Vastra whispers back to Jenny.

            They dart past street lamps. Soon they are very far from the marketplace indeed, and they seem to be descending. It isn’t the sewers, but they are below sea-level. Vastra leads them through short tunnels laden with stink. Finally, they come out to a building with a broken gate. By the looks of it, it had been a tenement. Well… calling it a tenement would be a little too kind. Yet a little candlelight flickers from one of the broken windows high above. Jenny and Vastra look it over momentarily. Jenny watches Vastra for instruction. Her mistress hisses once more. “With me, Jenny.”

            Together, they enter.

            To Jenny, the place is eerily quiet, but she suspects Vastra can hear even the roaches and mice in the walls. She climbs the stairs behind her mistress, watching behind them as Vastra has taught her to do.

            On the third floor landing, Vastra pauses. Jenny looks over her shoulder at her. “Ma’am?” she whispers. Those blue eyes are moving rapidly, calculating, trying to understand some new information. “Do you hear something?”

            “Shhh…” Vastra instructs. She shakes her head according to ape custom. “Smell…”

            Jenny watches Vastra’s eyes, which have settled on the ceiling. With a sigh, Vastra unsheathes the sword on her back. Jenny, suddenly unnerved by that look on her mistress’s face, follows suit.

            “My dear,” Vastra whispers as she eyes the ceiling, “I have a suspicion about what we are about to encounter. I suggest you brace yourself.” _If I had suspected this was the cause of the offsprings’ disappearances, I would have left you behind tonight_ , Vastra thinks.

            With sudden urgency, Vastra darts up the next flight of stairs. Jenny runs after her, taking steps two at a time. She keeps her blade low, following the hem of her mistress’s cloak.

            Vastra bursts into a room at the end of the hall. As the candlelight fills Jenny’s eyes, blood rushes to her ears so quickly she can hear it.

            The man is there, surprised indeed. He’s saying something, or trying to, Jenny can’t tell. All she sees are the children.

            Her contact was right. The children are of all ages, sizes, races, and classes. More than ten, maybe more than twenty, fill the room. That in itself is not particularly troubling. But they are tied together at their necks, and the ropes’ ends are tied to bars exposed by the rotting walls. Some have rags stuffed in their mouths. One—the closest to the door—has clearly had his tongue cut out.

            They all reek of waste and blood. Jenny can’t take her eyes off it. Every child, no matter how much or what they are wearing, has blood running down their legs.

            Vastra shouts. Jenny wakes up.

            The man in rags is cowering, trying to hold up the pitiful flame between himself and Vastra. Jenny realizes she has been listening all along. He’s a middleman. He doesn’t steal the children himself, nor does he take them. He just keeps them, takes orders from others, puts them on trains sometimes for out of town customers. He’s poor, he needs the money, he _takes care_ of the children, honest!

            Vastra spits and hisses at him, incapable of English at the moment. Some of her sounds Jenny recognizes; she suspects they are very rude curses on all ape society. Indeed, they are.

Because Vastra can smell it. The man is lying. Oh yes, these little ones have been or will be traded. She can tell there have been many more little apes within these walls than these comparative few. But she’s no fool. This creature—below even apes!—has tortured these hatchlings, and it has let others torture them as well. She is pacing like a lion, so enraged she can barely think, and her tongue whips at the ropes, burning them to pieces. Jenny turns to another set of ropes, cutting them, removing gags. Then it hits her: She does not recognize a single child in this room from the past three days of watching this man.

            As the children run, too tired to scream and too terrified to stay, Jenny stands again, stepping next to Vastra. She looks up at her mistress to find those blue eyes are watching her, holding back. Vastra is trying to restrain herself. Jenny looks down at the man cowering behind his feeble candlestick.

            Shuddering at the sight of him, Jenny kicks the candle out of his hands, letting the flame burn him. He looks up at her, panicked. For the first time in her life, Jenny cannot find a drop of compassion in her soul for a fellow human being.

            With an easy, controlled slash of her sword, she slits his throat.

            Vastra sniffs in surprise. The brown eyes of her friend lock with her own, cool and dangerous. In this moment, she knows Jenny does not care that this man might have given them information. She does not care how long it might take to find the ringleaders. He needs to suffer. Now. So Jenny walks toward the hallway. As she crosses the threshold, she says something to Vastra over her shoulder.

            “Eat him.”


	59. Who

**075\. Who?**

 

Late 1889

 

            _Late, late, late_ , Jenny thinks to herself. _Always running late this time of year, foolish girl_. The streets are busy this afternoon, and the crowds keep her from making much progress on her journey. In her basket, hidden beneath the meats and bread, lying safe in a hidden pocket of the blankets therein, lies a little bottle of film that she must get back to Paternoster Row to be developed.

            Several things happen at once. A cab rushes by spitting up slush and muck, Jenny both turns to protect her basket and yelps as wet mess covers her, and a shout echoes from just behind her.

            “Jenny! I’m sorry!”

            Soaked, the maid turns. “Doctor! Goodness, oh no, this isn’t your fault.”

            The Doctor pulls a handkerchief from his jacket and starts trying to help. “No, it was, I was just in that cab.” He hands Jenny the handkerchief and then sets to untying his cravat for what little extra help it offers.

            “Oh,” Jenny says, fidgeting. “It’s fine, I’m fine. Thank you, Doctor.”

            The Time Lord sighs. “I am afraid,” he says to her, “almost every time I bump into you, I manage to muck something up.”

            “Really, Doctor,” Jenny says, “I’ll be all right.” Despite her assurances, he looks guiltily down at his shoes and chews on his lips. “Where were you headed?”

            “Just a walk.”

            _Taking a cab to go for a walk. Right._ “Well, here, walk with me. I insist.”

            “Very well,” the Doctor says. He smiles, not that he’s happy, and Jenny can see that. But he appreciates the offer of company. “May I carry your basket?”

            “Certainly, sir,” Jenny replies, handing it over.

            “Sir?”

            “Sorry,” Jenny says as they set off. She can’t help it; He looks too… Victorian, what with his cravat and waistcoat and top hat. To think, Jenny once thought the Doctor’s increasingly bizarre taste in clothes was improper. Seeing him now, he just looks… wrong.

            “Jenny,” the Doctor says, “This might be the very first time we have been in each other’s company without Vastra present.”

            “You might be right there,” she replies, leading the way. _God, it is cold_ , she thinks, dreading having to wash this mess on her.

            “Well, tell me something about yourself. Something I don’t know! Or Vastra wouldn’t tell me,” he adds with a smile.

            “There’s not much to tell,” Jenny says, smiling herself.

            “Oh, Jenny Flint, come on. You are a maid—and maids are easily the greatest sources of intelligence in the universe if you’re looking for a secret—and you are a detective with…” he says, finally making a flamboyant motion like a Musketeer, complete with whooshing sounds. Jenny laughs. “There is so much to tell!” he says. “But all right, tell me about Jenny Flint before I met you.”

            _No_. “If it’s all the same to you, Doctor, I’d rather not.”

            “Oh.”

            “You understand,” she says, hoping he won’t feel he’s done more damage. “It’s just a bit painful. Now. It wasn’t then, but that is, compared to now…”

            “Of course, of course.” With a sideways glance, he wonders how much of that response was truth and how much was a lie.

            They continue walking, and really the crowds only seem to be getting worse.

            “How is Strax?”

            “Not bad,” Jenny says. “Pretty thick, but he tries.”

            “Hrm.”

            “He could actually become quite helpful. He brought some excellent tools with him from Demons Run, and he likes to show me how they work. I think he might be able to join our work eventually.” _Once he learns to behave_.

            “And how is Madame Vastra?”

            “She’s…”

            “You know what?” the Doctor says. “Let’s go this way a bit.”

            Jenny smiles and nods. They decide to visit a teahouse just a block away, in order to wait out some of this foot traffic. Jenny knows it to be one of Vastra’s favorites, especially in the summer time. Without the flowers, it isn’t quite the same, but they take seats in a secluded corner where they can both watch the doors. Combat training cannot easily be unlearned.

            The tea helps. Soon, the Doctor tells Jenny a story about one of his adventures in the Tardis, and she laughs at his jokes. In her turn, Jenny describes a few of her cases with Vastra, and she even tells him about Bill O’Hare—how much she did care about him but how horrified she is at the thought of how close she came to being his wife. They laugh together, at themselves, at life and humanity and Time Lords.

            The Doctor takes a sip of his tea while Jenny sighs, watching other patrons of the teahouse. There are many fine ladies, yes, and pretty. But not anyone compares to the one she holds in her heart.

            “Jenny,” the Doctor says, putting down his cup. “Who is Vastra?”

            She turns, blinking at him with big brown eyes. Jenny blushes a bit, simultaneously overwhelmed and mute.

            “To you? I mean…”

            “Well…” Jenny says. And she just sits there thinking—trying to think—long enough that the Doctor motions to her, asking if she is ready to continue their walk, and they leave through the back. “She’s…”

            Back behind the establishment, she sits again at a little abandoned table and bench. She’s still soaked, why care about the wet? The Doctor sits on the table, still carrying the basket. He swings his legs under the table. Above, the stars are starting to come out.

            Memories rush through Jenny, all jumbled together.

_Vastra laughs at her joke about Shakespeare. Vastra learns how to move in a more human manner, so painfully slowly. Vastra places Jenny’s human hand to Vastra’s cheek, and she—Jenny—gently strokes Vastra’s cheekbone with her thumb, and they kiss for the first time. Vastra shouts at her to get out the first time she saw Vastra shedding. Vastra tends to her, night and day, when she becomes dreadfully ill. Vastra_ eats _a human right in front of her and she wants to storm off and abandon Vastra, but instead she talks to Vastra and they go home and she gets sick in the facilitates for hours. Vastra yells at her to fix her stance in training, again and again and again. Vastra almost swoons at the sight of the greenhouse. Vastra holds her close all night long. Vastra fights with her about apes or being out all night or something. Vastra teaches her a form. Vastra teases her at Demons Run. Vastra needs her after Demons Run. Vastra hisses and sniffs. Vastra runs scaly fingers through her black hair. Vastra puts Scotland Yard’s men in their place. Vastra tries to make Jenny a meal. Vastra shudders in her arms in their bed. Vastra carefully, fearfully, tells her about her past. Vastra’s blue eyes blaze into her for the very first time._

 

            “She’s like… Fire. Rage. Ice. She’s the night, and the storm, and the heat at the heart of the Earth. She is… so old, ancient. She burns through time, and she can see right through it all, through everything…” _Through me, too_. “And she’s wonderful,” Jenny says, finally looking up at the Doctor.

He listens, staring at the brick wall in front of him. For an instant, Jenny can see him in all his forms and faces, and somehow she understands why he and Vastra are such good friends. Not with words, she can’t describe it in words, but in her heart she knows who they are.

“And I love her.”

The Doctor sniffles and licks his lips and looks away. With a cough he stands up from his perch on the table. “Well Jenny, I imagine I’ve kept you up a long time. Let’s get you home, shall we?”

Just like that, they depart. Before he leaves her at Paternoster Row, Jenny reminds him that he must come to their little Christmas party at the end of the month.

 

\---

(Loose reference to “Family of Blood,” DW3.9)


	60. What?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's pretty dark and gruesome, fair warning

**076\. What?**

 

1892

 

            The large, dilapidated house rests atop a muddy hill, surrounded by a perimeter of thick, angry trees. A pack of four men slouch their way up to the building from the main road. Two remain just outside the front door for a while, smoking. In time they enter, and to the west, the sun sinks below the edge of the departing storm clouds, then the tree line. South of the house, forty meters deep into the woods, three figures watch from staggered hides.

            Concealed in the darkness between the sun’s setting and the moon’s rising, Vastra steps out a little ways, motions for the others’ attention. Jenny, silent as the breeze, descends from the canopy of trees, resting still a good distance from the ground. Strax, a great deal less graceful, pops out from underneath a fern of some sort. Still, he manages to keep quiet.

            “It is as we suspected,” Vastra whispers, watching the house through the deepening darkness. “These rings of kidnappers are connected. You both recognized the men, yes?”

            “Yes, Madame,” Strax replies. Jenny hushes him.

            “As did I,” Vastra replies even more quietly. “Perhaps we have finally found their headquarters after all these years. I propose that we infiltrate the premises and discover if it is in fact the basis of their joint operations.” She pauses; Jenny nods and Strax smiles, a little too enthusiastically. “Very well. Based on our observations, the house has several strategic weaknesses of which I believe we can take advantage. Strax,” she whispers, turning now to face the Sontaran, “I want you to return to the main road. Guard the front entrance and monitor the eastern side. If something should go amiss, you know what to do.”

            “Guard duty?” Strax says, offended. “Madame, I am fully capable of—”

            “We need quiet tonight, Strax,” Vastra interrupts. “Not warfare, not yet.” He harrumphs, but sets off through the woods. Vastra turns her face upward. “And you, my dear,” she whispers, “I believe you will be up to the task of entering from one of the upper windows. I should think the western side of the house would be the least watched. As for myself, I intend to enter through the cellar doors there.”

            Jenny, staring ahead at the house, glances down to Vastra and gives a curt nod.

            “You know the signal? For Strax?”

            She smiles a little. “Yes, ma’am. Let’s go.”

            Vastra tastes the air a moment, then swiftly dashes toward the house. Jenny watches her a while, watching for any lamps in windows that might provide a sightline of Vastra. But nothing lights, and dark shape that Jenny knows to be Vastra reaches the nearest wall without incident. So Jenny, completely hidden in the dark—even from Vastra’s eyes—by her black uniform, leaps to the next tree.

            Once she reaches the western side of the house, Jenny jumps to the ground, keeping her body relaxed. She lands as silently as a cat. The safety of the woods surrounds her as she considers the stretch of open hillside between her and the house. At this point, she mostly remembers the house than sees it, and she takes a good while deciding how best to approach and scale the wall. Finally, she adjusts her sword’s straps on her hips and thigh so that it will not jostle about, and runs.

            The distance feels very long. Instinct tells Jenny that she should duck, should hide, anything, but she will not listen, not this time. If she is not running full speed by the time she reaches the wall, she will not make it. Seconds away from careening into it, Jenny leaps up. Her toes hit the wall and she pushes upward; her other foot presses, gets her a little further up. _Yes!_   Her fingers grasp the edge of the little balcony, and she pulls herself up. She takes a moment to look back, admiring her own skill. Not for long, though. She darts to a support beam nearest the second story wall, shimmies herself between the two, and starts climbing up, bit by bit, until she’s standing on the roof.

            Meanwhile, Vastra has entered the cellar. Even for her, the room is dark; for Jenny or Strax, this would have been an impossible difficulty. The cellar appears to be used little, save for some empty kegs in a corner. Through the humid, earthy air, Vastra can hear and smell those above. She slinks through the darkness, confirming the layout of the house above from below, seeking the most suitable way upstairs without being detected.

            Jenny finds the roof to be exactly as she had hoped: full of holes. She must mind where she steps, but she could not be more pleased as she bends down to peer into one of the larger holes. The attic within is dark, speckled with moonlight though, revealing a safe landing. With a grunt, Jenny yanks back some of the roofing. Although she hears mice scurry away from the sound, she feels confident that she won’t be noticed. She positions herself, and then slowly lowers her body into the room until she’s dangling by her fingertips. When she lets go, she only drops a little. Satisfied, she makes her way toward the logical exit.

            From near the main road, Strax monitors the heat signals in the house. They’re difficult to read through the woods and from this distance, and he paces back and forth. He looks up at a sound.

            “Horse! I told you to wait further off! You are breaking ranks! Go back!”

            But the horse, still pulling their carriage, just nuzzles the top of Strax’s head.

            “Ooh!” he groans, annoyed. “Well if you’re waiting here then I’m getting closer! I need better readings anyway. If you follow me again, I will obliterate you!” With that, he sets off down the main path toward the house.

            Vastra has found a hole in the ceiling at one corner of the cellar opposite from where she last heard voices. With some digging and clawing, she manages to force her body upward. She sits on the first floor, trying not to cough out dust and dirt. Looking about her, she finds herself surrounded by wooden boxes, stacked haphazardly all throughout the room, each full to the brim with papers, photographs, and children’s clothing. Standing, she starts to peruse the records with gloved hands, listening carefully. Although several walls between herself and the men muffle their voices, she can still hear them and tell where they are.

            The second-floor landing is far more exposed to the first-floor hall than Jenny would like. Even though few lamps light the space, she stays low and moves slowly, searching. She checks each room for any evidence of missing children or their captors’ identities, but the upstairs appears largely abandoned. Then, she discovers a door that is locked. Immediately, Jenny retracts her hand, listens. Although she only barely pressed against the door, someone on the other side might have been able to hear. After what feels like several minutes, Jenny gently pulls out her case of lock picks. Her heart races as the telltale click reaches her ears. Still low, Jenny creeps into the room. She leaves the door open a tiny crack, in case she might hear someone coming.

            Her eyes adjust. Jenny stands up in what is clearly an office. An ugly office, but an office. She goes to the desk. Moonlight streams through the open window now that the earlier storm clouds have moved on, and Jenny reads the writing in a large notebook open on the desk. She gasps.

            _It’s a ledger!_ Name after name of employees, bosses, their responsibilities and payments, fills the pages of the book. Jenny grabs at it with greedy fingers, but then hesitates, unsure of what to do with it. She observes that it has clasps to keep it shut. Abruptly, she reaches for the strap on her thigh and unbuckles it. Her sword will move more freely, possibly unbalancing her during her exit, but this should work. With creative fingers, Jenny slides the belt in between pages of the closed ledger, letting it hang on the strap from its own binding. Next she wraps the strap around her waist and buckles it. The fit is a bit tight, and the book is very uncomfortable against her back, but it should stay in place.

            Vastra has rolled a few records into a protective tube and is tying the tube to her belt when she hears a loud slam upstairs.

            Jenny, wide eyed, turns to the door. It has slammed shut. But how? Then it hits her. _This room isn’t level. Therefore, the door probably swung open, and_ … She turns to look at the window. _The wind blew it shut._ Below her feet, she can hear voices, chairs scraping against the floor, footsteps. A string of curses fall out of her mouth. She only has a few moments to decide what to do.

            Hide? No, this room is miniscule, nowhere to hide. Make for the attic? No time, footsteps climbing the stairs, she’s cut off. Window? Faces the front of the property, very exposed, best chance. Jenny darts out the window and swings around its side just as someone bursts through the door.

            “Hey you!”

            But she’s already climbing up the steep roof. _Watch for holes, watch for holes…_

            “Hey!” The man must be sticking his head out the window. “He’s climbing the roof!” Someone shouts a response from in front of the house.

            Jenny can’t resist, she’s already found out: “She!” she shouts back.

            Vastra bursts into the main hallway. Roughly seven men are climbing up the stairs when they see her. They holler, run into each other, turn. Two are already headed upstairs, but others are coming toward her now. She unsheathes both swords, at the ready. “Out of my way!” she roars.

            Jenny yelps; her foot has fallen through part of the roof. She falls forward, springs back up to her hands and a knee. Below, she can see two men climbing toward her, a third stretching out the window with a lantern, another man on the hill below, and damn it all if that’s not a new fellow running toward the house from the main road. One of the men is almost upon her; finally she pulls her leg out and flips herself over with a shout, the side of her foot plowing into his face. He falls, slips, and tumbles, only barely keeping himself from falling off the roof. The second man is approaching now. Her hands come up to guard as she stands, backing up the roof.

            Five toughs against one Vastra. They’re pressing her through the front door. She stings the man behind her hurling insults toward the roof, and she gracefully jumps over his limp body. The apes surround her in a circle. Not one of them is a match for her, but she’s distracted. Above, she can see three figures silhouetted against the moon’s glow. A shout snaps her back to attention, a man throwing himself at her, and the fight begins.

            “Hold still!” a man shouts at Jenny. She darts to the left as he tries to rush her, keeping one of the men between his partner and herself at all times. As this one runs past her, she delivers a double-kick to his back. He tumbles, but Jenny turns to face the other. This one bounces on his toes, watching her cautiously. With a shout, he swings. Jenny throws him over her shoulder. He cries out as the roof breaks beneath him. She leaps sideways, the first man charging at her from behind.

            “Get out of there!”

 _Vastra!_ Jenny looks down in time to see her mistress gut a man, three more to go. “Ma’am!”

            Jenny snaps her eyes back ahead of her. The one she nearly threw off the roof before is climbing back up toward them; the man she just dodged is coming back for her. _If I could just have a moment to get out my blade!_ She blocks a punch, backfists him in the jaw, makes for an uppercut. But he dodges, grabs her wrist, punches her in the gut. Jenny forces herself to breath as he steps in closer, ready to pummel her. She head butts him. He lets go, stumbling back. With a leap, she kicks him in the chin, knocking him out. He falls. But suddenly, the man Jenny had thrown over her shoulder is there, too. As he reaches for her, she jumps sideways without looking.

            “No!” Jenny cries, as she falls through the roof. She expects a hard landing in the attic, but her weight carries her through the weak boards, and she’s falling, hits and breaks the railing on the second-floor landing, spins as she falls to the ground level, slams into the floor.

            Vastra’s ears ring with a nightmarish scream. The sight of Jenny falling through the roof repeats in front of her eyes, even as she fights off the last of her own tormentors. Even they appear shaken by the cry.

            “Madame!”

            “Strax!” Vastra shouts back, Jenny’s agonized screams still scraping the air. “Help her! She’s inside!”

            Jenny keeps screaming, even as men start approaching her. Barely able to move from the floor, she seizes the ankles of an approaching adversary and floors him. She rolls, screaming at the subsequent pain, prepares to fight off the next one. But a red blast cuts through the air above her. The men run.

            “Strax!”

            “Come along,” Strax says. Despite Jenny’s rebelling body, Strax sweeps her up. He carries her across his shoulders and runs back the way he came.

            “I’ve got her! Him! Him, I mean him!”

            “Good, run!” Vastra orders. Strax leads and Vastra covers him. By the time they reach the carriage, Jenny isn’t screaming so much as snarling. Strax lays Jenny in the back with Vastra, climbs up, and sets the horse to galloping. The entire way, Vastra tries desperately to hold her wife, to comfort her, but nothing will stop Jenny’s thrashing.

 

            The Doctor is ready with a snappy response when his phone rings. But when he picks up, the first sound he hears is Jenny Flint, screaming in the background.

            “Doctor, Jenny’s hurt,” Vastra’s voice, pained, comes through. “Strax needs your help.”

 

            When the Doctor walks into the kitchen at 13 Paternoster Row and sees Jenny laying on the table, he freezes. Vastra, sitting next to her bloodied wife, holding her hand as Strax rushes about the table, looks up at him.

            “ _What_ the Hell have you done to her?” the Doctor roars.

            “Doctor, please, she fell and we need your help,” Vastra says weakly as she stands.

            “Fell? She looks like she’s been run over by a monster truck! Or put through a blender! Did you throw her off of Big Ben?”

            “She fell through a roof,” Vastra says. “Two or three stories.”

            “Vastra, she’s _human_! Humans are fragile! What were you thinking? You’re lucky she isn’t dead!”

“Something broke her fall,” Strax chips in, only glancing up as he attempts to assess a bloody, broken leg.

            Jenny screams anew at Strax’s touch, unable to hear anything, see anything, through the pain.

            Vastra whirls back to watch, her breath hitching.

            The Doctor grimaces again at the sound, then turns to snarl at the back of Vastra’s head. He shakes his head, frowning. “See, this is what’s wrong with us.”

            “Us?” Vastra asks, glancing back. The Doctor pulls her out into the hallway.

            “You, me. We put people, good people, in danger and we hurt people and it’s our fault! This is your fault, Vastra!”

            “Doctor!”

            “You just force this girl into trouble and look what you’ve done to her?”

            “Enough!” Vastra shouts back, her blue eyes shredding him. “You are allowed to be angry at me, old friend, but you will not insult me in my own home, and will not insult Jenny’s ability to make her own decisions as a grown woman. Now are you going to _help her_ or not?”

            The Doctor stews for a moment, but his face and body slump. “Yes… yes, of course, Vastra. I’m sorry.” He steps back into the room. “All right, Strax, let’s see your handiwork.”

            Vastra slowly follows, watching from the doorway, utterly terrified.

            “Good work. Not bad for a potato,” the Doctor says glumly. He sonics one of Strax’s devices with his screwdriver, pulls out a bottle of thick liquid, and sets to work.

 

            Strax sits at the table, utterly exhausted. The Doctor departs without so much as a tip of his hat to Madame Vastra. But Jenny sleeps, and Vastra is grateful to see her whole, everything in its correct place, all bleeding within and without repaired. She lays a hand on Strax’s shoulder. He looks up.

            “Thank you.”

            “Unh,” he grunts. “Don’t mention it.”

            “Truly, I am.”

            “No, I mean don’t mention it. Such skill at nursing is disgraceful. Jenny might’ve had a glorious death in battle.”

            “Very well,” Vastra says. “I will not mention it.” When she looks down at Strax again, he’s all but asleep. “Strax, why don’t you go up to bed?”

            “Yes’m,” he says. As he drags his feet out of the room, Vastra turns to Jenny. Ever so carefully, she lifts her into her arms. Glancing at the notebook they found on Jenny, she thinks, _We’ll look at that tomorrow._ She carries her wife upstairs to their room—surely more comfortable than a tabletop—and as she does, Vastra feels as though her whole body might burst. Little whimpers escape her, remembering Jenny’s cries.

            Once she has laid Jenny on the bed, Vastra sighs. She achingly removes her own clothing, starts a fire, and crawls into bed. Jenny stirs, but her eyes stay closed. Vastra is almost afraid to touch her, even though she knows Jenny is much further along in the process of healing thanks to her two friends.

            “Don’t frighten me like that, my dear Jenny,” Vastra whispers. She lifts her hand and softly traces Jenny’s aura. “Please don’t. What would I do without you?”


	61. When?

**078\. When?**

 

Fall 1890

 

            “Get out, get out, get out!”

            “Jenny! Umph – Really!” Vastra exclaims as she dodges another pillow.

            “GET OUT!” Jenny roars. Out of pillows, she launches the pitcher, which Vastra slaps away. She reaches for the teapot.

            “Not that one!”

            “OUT!”

            Vastra backs out the door and Jenny slams it in her face.

The woman within the bedroom leans her back against the door, slides down, wraps her arms around her knees, hurt and angry. The woman outside the door hisses, sniffs, paces, expecting the door to open again. But it doesn’t.

She grabs the doorknob. “Jenny?” It is locked. “Jenny!”

“Go away,” Jenny’s muffled voice says from behind the door.

At that, Vastra whirls away, furious. In the hall, she picks up a few of the pillows and stuffs them under her arm. She could easily sleep in the guest room, but Vastra is too bitter at being kicked out of her own room to stay on the same floor as Jenny. Instead, she stomps down the staircase. As Strax dares to peek out his own bedroom door, she snaps her tongue out. Not at him, just close enough to encourage him to stay away.

Jenny listens to her stomping. She sniffles, wipes her nose on her sleeve and rubs her eyes with the spare hand. _It’s just as much my room as hers,_ she thinks. _I’m not some visiting whore; I’m her wife, dammit!_

            In the meantime, Vastra throws the pillows on the settee in the drawing room. She tries to get a fire going, but her efforts go on and on and on. By the time a real fire is crackling and snapping with life, Vastra is bitterly cold. So she pushes her makeshift bed as close to the hearth as she can and scrunches up on it. The heat soothes her to sleep; her body is so used to Jenny’s own heat signaling that it is time to rest.

 

            “Vastra, wake up.”

            The Silurian hisses, grumbles, then finally she consents to wake. But only just.

            “What time of night is it?”

            “It’s whenever I want it to be,” Jenny retorts.

            Vastra groans, slumps back on her pillows. As Jenny blocks the heat from the now considerably smaller fire, she pulls the blanket closer to her.

            “When were you going to tell me?” Jenny asks. Although she seems to whisper, there is barely contained venom of her own in that voice.

            “Apparently tonight, my dear,” Vastra hisses.

            “You weren’t planning on telling me?”

            “No, it is not important. It certainly is not relevant to our relationship.”

            “It’s relevant to your life!”

            “Not very much,” Vastra says, shaking her head slightly.

            “How can you say that? You might be a mother!”

            “Jenny,” Vastra says, her temper rising quickly, “My society had a breeding program. Almost anyone could be a parent and never meet the offspring.”

            “You told me you were the last of your kind, of your tribe.”

            “And that’s true.”

            “How do you know that?”

            “Jenny,” Vastra says, sighing. “Sit down.” Jenny stays standing. _Fine_. Vastra moves to a seated position, looking up at her wife. “Everyone of age donated to the breeding programs. Your donations’ genetic material was examined, then paired with the best match for a healthy offspring. But I only would have met any offspring to which I might have contributed if I were matched to a male within my tribe, of which there were desperately few. Most were very young, and I could not have possibly been their ‘mother’ as I was in university many years prior to the hibernation.”

            “University.”

            “Yes. Students in university did not make donations. Too stressful on the body.” Vastra aches speaking in past tense like this.

            “But… you could have before you went to university. Been paired with some other bloke from another group.”

            “Tribe. Yes, it is possible.”

            Jenny’s pacing is giving Vastra a headache. Why must she be so angry about this?

            “I can’t understand how you can be so, so… How can you not care?” Jenny blurts out.

            “Our cultures, our _species_ , are different.”

            “I can see that.”

            “No!” Vastra hisses. “You certainly are not acting like it. I have somehow managed to acclimate to a society of apes over the years, despite its many alien features to my own society, and you _will not_ insult me by being so closed minded as to refuse to so much as listen to _my_ story, learn about _my_ people!”

            Jenny stops pacing. Although she has not moved in several moments, and although she still appears angry, her entire quality has changed. The human takes a deep breath. She looks down at Vastra, her face softer.

            “Explain.”

            Vastra tastes the air. Then she says, “Our offspring were not born as infants. We matured a great deal in our eggs, emerged similar to… perhaps an older child of your own kind. Untrained, yes, but mature. We had relatively little need for the kind of nursing your infants do. So ties between generations were less important. Certainly we learned loyalty to our genetic pool, and our tribe, but we were taught and tended to by all the adults of our people. I myself was a volunteer, saw after hatchlings of my own tribe. And I shared genetics with some of the tribe of Silurians we met at…” She pauses. “But…” Vastra sighs again, watching Jenny, who looks down at her feet, her hair hiding her face.

            “We simply… Your offspring, of your kind. I have seen how they are placed on pedestals—embodiments of their parents’ ‘Love,’ if you can call it that when one partner is seen as beneath the other—and simultaneously treated as… pets. Less than equal to the rest of their species. That is not something my people would have done.”

            “No?”

            “Indeed not. It wasn’t necessary. And Jenny, _everyone_ donated to the programs. It was law. A good one. It made our species strong, healthy, and intelligent.” Vastra holds back though. She won’t mention just now that very occasionally, when two Silurians became partners, fell in love, they might produce offspring outside of the breeding programs, and while that practice was untraditional, it was not forbidden either. Perhaps later, when Jenny is ready to hear how very rarely those of her kind ever fell in love.

            Jenny sits next to Vastra. They do not touch.

            Finally, she mumbles, “I’m sorry, ma’am.”

            “Vastra. Please, not when we are arguing.”

            “Vastra. I’m sorry.”

            She looks at Jenny, still hidden behind her hair. _Fascinating communication systems they have_ , she thinks even as she brushes the black curtain behind an ear. “My dear,” Vastra says, touching under Jenny’s chin and turning her face. “You told me you did not want children.”

            “I didn’t. And… that’s not exactly what I said.”

            “You could still seek out a possible contributor,” Vastra says.

            “No,” Jenny says, shaking her head, looking away briefly. “No, no.” She looks back. “No, I couldn’t.” The idea of lying with anyone beside her wife makes Jenny nauseous. Yes, she felt a strong maternal pang in her heart, but not even that could tempt her away.

            “How does that work, anyway?” Vastra asks, trying to lighten the mood, but Jenny chokes.

            “Um,” Jenny says, regaining her breath, “It’s a fairly… intimate process.”

            “They incubate within the body, correct?”

            “Yes. And don’t ask anymore just now.”

            “Oh. Certainly.”

            They sit in silence a moment.

            “I didn’t lie,” Jenny says. “Before. I said I hadn’t thought of having kids a long time. And I hadn’t. I haven’t. Because—” And Jenny catches Vastra’s eye, her scales of varied greens glimmering in the low light of the fire, beaded lips slightly parted. The sight is strikingly beautiful. Jenny swallows. “Because I wanted- I _want_ to be with you.” She takes one of Vastra’s hands and rubs it with her thumb. “Children or no…”

            Vastra cups Jenny’s face, that little mole hidden by her scales. She knows she cannot understand Jenny in this instance, cannot understand what this sacrifice might be, but she can tell it is a difficult decision that her wife made a long time ago.

            Therefore, Vastra feels uncertain about how to respond. But Jenny is leaning in, watching her with half-closed eyes, nearly touching. So she decides to be honest and kind, like Jenny.

            “I love you, and I am very grateful that you are mine.”

            “Mine,” Jenny repeats ( _Or is it a claim?_ ). But it doesn’t matter, she has pressed her lips to Vastra’s, pulling, and her hands run wild over Vastra’s crown, her arms, her hips. When she finally pulls up, her dark eyes barely open.

            “And I’m sorry I threw things at you.”

            “That did hurt,” Vastra comments.

            “I’ll make it up to you,” Jenny whispers, pressing herself to Vastra again. Desire and need overwhelm everything else: Desire for Vastra’s forgiveness—she was right, Jenny has been unfair—and need for Vastra’s compassion, for her wife to understand what Jenny’s giving up for her. Because God, she loves her wife so much it hurts.

            Vastra welcomes the embrace, pulls Jenny down with her, wraps them both in the blanket. 


	62. Why?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we need something happy/ maTURE!!

**079\. Why?**

 

February 1891

 

            Vastra looks up from her book as a blanket falls upon her shoulders. She turns. Jenny walks from behind her wife’s chair and sits on its arm to wrap warm, sturdy arms around Vastra, who smiles. But her storm blue eyes ask why…

            “You looked a little cold, dear,” Jenny answers and gently kisses Vastra’s crown. The touch tingles through her scales.

            “I’ll be leaving now,” Strax announces, closing his book and trotting off to the library. He can be thick at times, but two and a half years have taught him something.

            “Oi, don’t you want to watch?” Jenny calls after him.

            “Jenny,” Vastra says, poking her in the ribs.

            “Ow! Stop that! Haha!”

            “I shan’t,” Vastra replies with all the nobility she can muster. And she pokes Jenny again.

            “Ow!” Jenny stands, releasing her wife and retreating. Vastra, who had been leaning a bit too much perhaps, leans over the arm of her chair with one arm dangling over the edge. She looks up at Jenny, pretending to be offended.

            “Be cold,” Jenny retorts. With that, she picks up her dress as if she wore some enormous thing a queen might wear, and sits on the settee. Vastra pulls herself upright, humming. She continues reading her latest novel. Meanwhile, Jenny picks up her sewing again; Strax has gone and torn another shirt.

            _Really, we are not so very distasteful,_ Vastra thinks as she is reminded of Strax. She lifts her gaze to consider what she has just read. Her eyes wander to the window, where large flakes of snow dance their way to the already enormous quantity on the ground, all of which has shut London down. Gratitude for shelter from the peculiar element rises to Vastra’s mind. And then her eyes fall once again to Jenny.

            Careful fingers, calloused by years learning the art of the sword (among other tasks), gently lift and pull at thread and needle. Dark brown eyes gaze softly at the cloth in hand, focused but without strain. _Jenny would have seen the snow and thought immediately of the hungry, homeless mouths in the city tonight,_ Vastra thinks. Because Jenny is, in many ways, superior to herself. Jenny is kind and selfless; Vastra admires her for it, knowing such traits make a far better person and sword-bearer.

            Vastra stands and moves to the settee. She situates herself so she sits sideways, right next to Jenny, who barely turns away from her work to notice. An ornately scaled thumb glides across her brow. As the hand pushes a stray lock of hair behind her ear, Jenny pauses, and then she looks at Vastra.

            Sometimes, it still shocks Jenny to see Vastra’s face. Warm light from the crackling fire in front of them dances across Vastra’s scales. Mammalian instincts warn Jenny, as ever, of present danger, which just makes her chest ache all the more.

            Jenny turns to place the sewing down behind her.  She revolves back to the Silurian. However, as her wife leans forward, Jenny places the tips of her fingers on Vastra’s lips and chin. Her head tilts, she smiles, as Vastra’s eyes look down at the fingers and back up at her wife.

            “What is it, my love?” Vastra whispers.

            “Why me?”

            Vastra takes Jenny’s hand in both of hers and pulls it down while her eyes question and hunt. “Do explain.”

            “If it had been anyone else there that night we met, would you choose them?”

            “No,” Vastra replies instantly, shaking her head slowly as though the thought was so preposterous she could not even take it seriously.

            “But you could have traveled with the Doctor. Gone back in time to your own kind, or forward when the Silurians return. But you didn’t,” Jenny says, reaching up to stroke Vastra’s cheekbone. Her wife is warm to the touch, which makes Jenny happy.

            “No, I did not,” answers Vastra, allowing her eyes to wander.

            “So why me?”

            Tender, loving grace fills Vastra to the brim. She cups Jenny’s face and pulls her close. With a kiss to her dear wife’s brow, she replies.

            “Simple, my dear…” Vastra kisses Jenny’s temple… “You are intelligent…” and the other temple… “You are compassionate…” her left eyelid… “You are kind…” and the right… “You are strong…” the right cheek… “And you are fierce…” the right ear… “You are patient…” the left ear… “Yet you are just…” and left cheek… “You bring light to my days…” the tip of her nose… “And warmth to my nights…” her jawline, her scar from the Ripper… “You are playful…” her neck… “And imaginative…” mmm, her neck… “And you are so very brave…”

            Vastra finally lifts her head to look into Jenny’s eyes. “You are like fire, Jenny Flint. If I had not seen that in you the moment we met, we would have parted ways long ago. You make me better than I am, Jenny.” Vastra kisses Jenny once more, briefly, on the lips. “And beside everything else you are, you are also beautiful.”

            Jenny’s voice is quiet and deliciously husky. “You didn’t used to think that,” she says, touching Vastra’s chin with a finger.

            “And I should think you did not find me entirely pleasing to behold at first, either,” says Vastra, bumping her forehead into Jenny’s. Her wife giggles quietly.

            “I suppose not.”

            “We have changed each other, I think,” Vastra says.

            “Yes. You are beautiful,” Jenny replies, closing her eyes to the sweet pleasure of her company.

            “And so are you,” Vastra says. “Not an ape at all,” she adds.

            “Hmm.”

            Jenny decisively puts an end to their sweet nothings and kisses her wife. Encouraged, Vastra pulls her close, violently grasping at Jenny’s narrow waist with one arm and supporting her neck gently with the other.

            Perhaps Strax made the right decision to leave the room after all.


	63. He

**083\. He**

 

Spring 1887

 

            “He’s a clever bloke,” Jenny maintains. “And he makes good wages. He even likes his work.”

            “You certainly seem to go out of your way to purchase his wares,” Vastra says, walking one step ahead of Jenny with her stately air.

            “It’s better prices at Billingsgate, ma’am,” Jenny mutters. It’s a lie—fish is expensive anywhere. Of course, to Jenny’s mind everything she purchases for Number 13 Paternoster Row seems expensive, although she suspects he cuts the prices of fish a bit for Jenny’s sake. It’s just a thanks for keeping him company on the days she is already in the neighborhood, visiting old friends or family members. Lately, Jenny’s family is missing from the flat where she grew up half the time she goes to visit; on the days they’re out, she might as well just drop by his stall and have a casual conversation.

            “Of course,” Vastra replies. Jenny suspects her mistress is attempting to convey sarcasm.

            “Come now, ma’am, you could pretend to be happy for me. I’ll be twenty this year. If I don’t find a man soon, I might as well have ‘spinster’ written across my face.”

            “Poppycock!” Vastra replies with flourish. Jenny giggles. Every few months or so Vastra stumbles upon a new word she rather enjoys and works into any conversation as quickly as possible. “You have plenty of time to procure a mate, Jenny.”

            “I don’t need a mate, ma’am, I need a husband.” They are nearly home now, and Vastra stops engaging in the conversation. Gratitude washes over Jenny, and since she has missed church services with some frequency lately, she says a little prayer internally. She does not really wish to think about it anymore. Worrying over all the rules and expectations of courtship, how such an entanglement might revoke some of her independence and remove her from assisting in Madame Vastra’s adventures, and her general dis-ease with the whole idea of men… It’s all better left to some other time.

For the moment, Jenny has chores to do. Besides, he really is a fine young man. Had he been born to a family of some rank, he would be a real gentleman. Not one of those Lords or Sirs that make use of their rank to take advantage of others. No, this lad would have been one of the ones who treat ladies of all stations with kindness, men of any means with fairness, and always strive for the right. It’s a shame really; London could do with more gentlemen like that.

 

_“Miss Flint!” he calls from the other end of the market. Jenny smiles, moseying past the columns of the arcade. She takes her time, enjoying the sights and sounds of the Billingsgate market. The smell less so: she remembers the stench of fish wafting from this market all the way to her childhood home. “Eh Flint!” he calls again over the din of the bustling bodies. “Don’t make me wait, love!”_

_It’s easy to hear his deep Irish voice lilting over everyone’s shouting in the place. Finally, Jenny arrives at his stall. At the moment, he can’t greet her properly as he lifts enormous sea creatures from an icebox to the stall counter. She knows he’s never sailed as a fisherman or a sailor—he just sells the fish—but in her mind’s eye she can see he would do well out there. He’s a bear of a man stuffed into patched trousers and suspenders over nothing but a stained undershirt. It’s just as well. He would ruin any decent clothing he might have if he brought it to his fish stall. His long hair sticks to his face and neck, wet from the rain. Jenny notices he’s trimmed his facial hair this morning—he was probably clean-shaven at some point today. But what Jenny really likes about him are those storm-blue eyes. There’s something familiar about them._

_He smiles at Jenny, done with the manual labor for now. “And how are you this fine day, Miss Flint?”_

_“I am well, sir—“_

_“Ha! Sir?”_

_“But I’d hardly call it a fine day.”_

_“Ah well. It’s a fine day for fish!”_

_“Bet you wouldn’t feel that way out on a boat today.”_

_“Don’t insult me, now. I’m sure I’d love a boat any day of the year.”_

_“Yeah,” Jenny smiles, stepping along side the stall to keep from blocking his customers. “That you would. Go back home, wouldn’t you?”_

_“Perhaps,” he says, smiling at an older woman as she passes over her purse. He carefully counts the exact change he is due—she’s blind—and returns the purse gently. Jenny, who has become increasingly observant since she started training with her mistress, notices a subtle motion. He has returned a few pence to the purse._

_“Why did-“_

_“Oh I know her, good friends with her grandson. But he passed on last winter. Influenza. As for a boat, I wouldn’t go back to the Isle of Eire right away.”_

_“Don’t you miss your family?”_

_“Oh, oui mademoiselle,” he says, showing off. “But there’s loads to see out there! France I hear is a fair bit brighter than you lot make it out to be.”_

_“Oi, watch it, ginger.”_

_“Haha! But then there’s Spain, Portugal, maybe Greece! And then I might drop back to Ireland.” He grins._

_“Adventure, then.” Jenny can understand that. His dream of a boat gives him what her sword and service to Madame Vastra gives to Jenny. It’s not just excitement, it’s a better way of living._

_“On that note,” he says, turning to face Jenny. He bites his lip as a large, freckled hand tries to straighten his hair out of his face._

_“You should have worn a cap today.”_

_“Don’t interrupt, it isn’t lady-like.”_

_“Oh hush.”_

_“Haha! No, but Ms. Flint, I was wondering, what say you and me… eh well… I thought you might like to go for a, uh, um, well a bit of a stroll?”_

_“Right now? In the rain?”_

_“No no! I mean later this week? You get a little time off from the Madame one night, I’ll wash the fish out my hair, and just… I don’t know…”_

_Jenny understands now. “Oh! Oh… Well I… I’ll ask about it.” She’s surprised. He has certainly never given her any indication that he was thinking about something like this. Yet here he is, smiling like an idiot, and he has to turn around away from her face to take a deep breath, and he’s still smiling with those blue eyes when he turns back again. They say a few more pleasant things and Jenny excuses herself, overwhelmed by a sudden need to not be near her friend._

 

Vastra gives her maid permission to take time off work on Saturday evening next. She does not want to, but she has no right to impede on Jenny’s personal life any more than she already does. She isn’t very pleasant about it, though. She’s never met the young man, so she goes back and forth between asking Jenny detailed questions and acting as though she couldn’t care less what Jenny does with her spare time. On Jenny’s part, she really is confounded by her mistress’s behavior, which adds to her general stress as the agreed upon date draws nearer.

At dawn Saturday morning, Jenny and Vastra are found in the cellar, doing their sets of up-downs, sit-ups, and push-ups. Jenny practices her unarmed techniques, moves to her forms with her blade, and stands at attention when she is ready to commence sparring with Vastra. It is one of the most grueling sparring sessions she will ever endure with her mistress. Vastra does not hold back at all. It’s all Jenny can do to block, stay out of the way of the onslaught, as Vastra lays into her with _both_ of her own swords. She doesn’t even try to respond with a strike in the midst Vastra’s furious offensive. One, two, three, four times Jenny is disarmed. The last time Vastra comes within a centimeter of cutting her left hand off.

“Ma’am!” Jenny finally shouts. “What the blazes is this about?”

Vastra pants. How unusual that she show any fatigue during a training session. Her pupil has maintained a level, respectful tone, but her brown eyes, spitting fire at her, demand a response. Vastra looks away, ashamed of her behavior. A Silurian—let alone one of her tribe—should never let her wayward emotions override her duty like this.

“I’m sorry, Jenny,” she says finally. “That was… I was…”

“Was it some kind of test? You trying to teach me something from whatever the blooming hell that was?”

Vastra’s eyes dart up. She pauses. And lies. “Yes. You did well. There will always be someone out there who can out match you, Jenny. You must be able to defend yourself until you can escape. You did well. But I should have warned you ahead of time and explained the purpose of the exercise. We should not have used the swords, but the bokkens.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Anyway,” Vastra says, “You are dismissed. Do your stretches, clean yourself up, see to your chores. Once you are finished, you are free to depart for the evening.”

“Yes—”

But Vastra has already sheathed her blades, put them away, is climbing the stairs.

“…ma’am.”

 

Jenny looks herself over in her little mirror, frowning. It’s her best dress and hat, but it all looks wrong. She can’t get comfortable, and her stomach turns unhappily. She isn’t nervous at all about him; she’s entirely unsure about herself.

The door’s bell rings. Jenny yelps and goes running for the stairs. Vastra, Jenny knows, is in the drawing room digesting dinner, but she won’t be getting up to see her off. For whatever reason, her mistress is really unhappy with herself for not warning Jenny properly about the test.

“Good evening,” he says when Jenny opens the door.

“Well look at you!” She can’t help it. Jenny’s only ever seen him at work, coated in fish scales and fish guts and fish stink. But damn, he does clean up well. He’s wearing proper trousers, a pressed shirt that’s only a little worn around the edges, even a vest and tie. He’s casually holding his tweed jacket over his shoulder, probably annoyed with the heat compared to his usual attire. But his hair is combed under a bowler hat and his blue eyes twinkle happily.

“Ah, and you, Ms. Flint! Here,” he says, handing her two bouquets. “The spare is for the Madame. Figured since it took a while to hear back about tonight, she maybe gave you some trouble?”

“Oh, it’s nothing. Do come in. I’m sure she’d like to meet you.”

He removes his hat and steps up, looking around at the fine home. “My… You keep it clean, that’s for sure,” he says. When Jenny turns around from shutting the door, she sees Vastra is already walking down the hall towards them, hat and veil in place.

“Madame Vastra,” she says as her mistress approaches. “This is Mr. O’Hare.”

“How do you do?” Vastra says icily. Jenny peers curiously through the veil, wondering what image her mistress is trying to sell.

“Name’s William John O’Hare. Friends call me Bill,” he says with a bow of his head. “These are for you, Madame. Sorry to be stealing Ms. Flint away. I can see she must do good work for you!”

“Mmm. Well, Mr. O’Hare,” Vastra says, examining the flowers, “Don’t you two wait on me here. Go enjoy your evening.”

“Yes, Madame!” Bill says, and he follows Jenny out into the night.

           

            Despite herself, Jenny enjoys herself tonight. Bill takes her to a favorite watering hole of his, an Irish pub. While Jenny’s more than less used to the Irish immigrants of London, she’d never dare go into one of their pubs on her own (unless it was necessary for a case). But Bill introduces her to everybody there, and after a few cautious questions, the crowd sees she means no harm. She learns a few Irish sea songs, and Bill entertains her with stories and jokes, most at his own expense.

After they have each had a respectable amount to drink, he bids farewell to friends and escorts her out to the main road. It’s well-lit and many happy Londoners are enjoying the warm evening breeze. Jenny knows she could easily handle anyone who might try to take advantage of the darkness—even Bill—but she appreciates his efforts to be respectable and keep her in a safe environment. A number of passersby glare at Bill and raise quizzical, disapproving brows at Jenny. Nothing happens, however, and Bill pretends obliviousness. Jenny chuckles to herself, knowing that if trouble arose, she would have just as much a part to play in defending her escort as he would defending her.

They stroll and talk. Jenny impresses Bill with how much she reads, and Bill discusses current events with her, expressly opinionated but always lightening the mood with his self-deprecating humor. By the end of the evening, they each have permission to call each other by their given names.

As she bids Bill a good night and shuts the door of Paternoster Row after watching him walk (really, skip) away down the block), Jenny knows it has been a very pleasant evening. And she hates that.

 

Vastra does not watch Jenny from behind her newspaper Sunday morning. Nope. She does not need to, because Jenny is so obviously unhappy about something. She hopes the little ape is not upset with her behavior at training yesterday.

“Jenny, the tea.”

“Oh! Sorry, ma’am,” Jenny goes into the kitchen to take the teapot off the stove, having let it whistle for several minutes now. She returns with the pot and two cups and saucers.

“Jenny, we are friends, yes?”

Jenny smiles while she pours the very hot tea. “Of course.”

“So why don’t you tell me what happened?” Vastra asks, folding her paper.

For a brief moment, Jenny freezes, her hand left aloft even after Vastra has received the teacup from her. She sighs. “Nothing happened, ma’am. It was a very pleasant evening.”

“And…?”

“And… that’s all. Nothing’s wrong, I’m just a bit distracted.”

Vastra considers her for a moment, sipping at her tea. “Well, you were right, he seemed to me a very decent ape. He’d make for excellent breeding.”

“Madame!” Jenny is about to comment on the impropriety of bringing up such things over tea when she realizes something else. “You remembered he’s a he. I didn’t have to remind you.”

“Indeed,” Vastra says smugly. In all honesty, after seeing him, she would never forget William J. O’Hare. He is the largest single specimen of ape Vastra has ever laid eyes on.

“There was just something wrong about last night,” Jenny offers, gazing off into space. “I can’t put my finger on it. I’m sure it’s nothing, ma’am.”

 

Over the course of a month, Bill goes out with Jenny twice more. Each time he brings flowers. He thinks he is doing well—Jenny seems to be laughing at his jokes and she speaks easily with him—but he can’t be sure what all he’s actually saying. He feels very distracted and nervous and giddy, so he’s very careful not to touch her. Jenny is so very pretty in her dress, as anyone can tell (the pub regulars congratulated him thoroughly when he returned after the first time he brought Jenny by). She obviously keeps a very good house, and she’s ever so caring towards others, and she doesn’t care about the ugly looks Englishmen give him, and she smiles so pretty, and she’s fit as a horse, and she’s afraid of nothing, and she makes good wages that could be put away towards a real house with his savings (Maybe? One day?), and Lord Almighty that black hair.

As he stands on the stairs outside Jenny’s residence at the end of their third outing, he can’t stop himself. He stoops over—she is much shorter—and blinks a lot and kisses her lips for just a half of a second while no one is around to watch. To him, it’s fantastic and beautiful, this first time he’s properly kissed a woman.

To Jenny, that half of a second feels like eternity. She’s surprised at first. Then she forgets that she’s supposed to close her eyes, too. And her mouth won’t work; she keeps trying to get her lips to respond in some way but they just seem to squirm, which makes her think of fish. It all seems just a little ridiculous.

He pulls away, blinks a lot, swallows. Without a word, he dashes off. Whether he’s embarrassed himself or Jenny’s rather feeble attempt to respond has embarrassed him, she doesn’t know. But as she wrenches open the front door, she hears Vastra call out, “Welcome home! How was your evening will Mr. O’Hare?”

“Fine!” Jenny calls back, and she slams the door behind her. Vastra feels the house shake a bit. She looks over her shoulder at the doorway just in time to see Jenny march her deflated self toward the stairs. In a few moments, her bedroom door slams as well.

_Apes make no sense._

 

As it happens, Bill and Jenny do not go out together after that. He comes to see her one rainy day shortly afterward. He apologizes profusely for having to leave. She is very gracious with him, saying he really must return to Ireland under the circumstances. His father needs him. Neither speaks of it, but Jenny knows Bill’s father is not only sick but is demanding his eldest son’s presence in reaction to the defeat of the First Home Rule Bill a year ago. He promises to write often, but they both suspect they will never see each other again.

After Bill O’Hare departs, his steps heavy, Jenny explains to Vastra as best she can the circumstances of his departure. Finally, she just says that Bill’s tribe needs a strong man like him in the time to come. Jenny admits her worries for him, her sadness over the departure of a dear friend.

But a tiny part of her is relieved.


	64. She

**084\. She**

 

1890

 

            When the Doctor returns to the swimming pool, he enters just as Strax, standing on one of the benches, is lowering Jenny’s veil over her face. Her brown eyes catch his across the deck as the lace floats down. The Doctor swaggers up to them.

            “Thanks, Strax,” Jenny says. The Sontaran grumbles, clearly unaffected by the overtones of the day.

            “Jenny,” the Doctor sighs. “Look at you. All grown up.”

            “Hardly,” she replies. “That’s the heels.”

            He laughs. Strax just rolls his eyes.

            “Shall we?” the Doctor asks, placing a hand on each of the others’ shoulders.

            Jenny looks down at Strax, smiling all the more at his discomfort, and turns back to the Doctor. “Let’s.”

            The three of them walk together, the Doctor guiding them through the Tardis’s winding corridors. Shortly they enter a door that opens to a narthex. “This way,” the Doctor says, leading Jenny to the side door. “Not you, Strax, go up front!” As the Sontaran begrudgingly walks through the central doors, the Doctor and Jenny enter from the side. Jenny looks up, amazed. Sunlight—she thinks it looks like sunlight in any case—streams through tall, stained glass windows. Enormous blocks of stone thrust upward toward… well, presumably, more Tardis. Yet they stop walking very soon—this cathedral-in-a-box is a great deal smaller than it appears, apparently.

            The Doctor has Jenny stand in the shadows. Then her darts up to a plain, symboless altar. “Right then! Geronimo!”

With that, he spins around, pointing his sonic screwdriver all over the place. Jenny starts as the room starts to reverberate with sound, music! The very windows are singing! She smiles, enchanted by a sound so old and so new.

“Let’s go, ladies!” the Doctor calls. “I believe you will both find a little something from each other nearby…”

Jenny looks around her. There, on a little pedestal, lies a bough of cherry blossoms. “Oh…” And here she thought she had surprised Vastra. She delicately picks up the bough, and she turns to step into the light.

Even as she does, Jenny sees Vastra do the same, not five meters away. And she is carrying the white roses Jenny got for her.

The Doctor grins at the pair. They’ve both paused, shocked and amazed at each other, and in this moment he is so very happy despite everything. And they should be amazed, because they are both beautiful. Jenny: radiant, fierce, Victorian goddess in white, made all the brighter by her black locks. Vastra: voluptuous greens and limes and dark forests, touched in silver at her exposed shoulders, wrapped in red and sparked with blue.

They step forward simultaneously, crossing the short distance to the Doctor and Strax.

“Right,” the Doctor says. “Jenny, we’ll start with you.” She nods, her eyes fixed on Vastra. “According to the standards of Great Britain of the planet Earth in the time of Queen Victoria, please repeat after me. ‘I, (your name)…’”

Jenny smiles. For a split second, she contemplates using her full given name, Genevieve. But she stopped being that person long ago. “I, Jenny Lynn Flint…”

“…‘take thee, Vastra, to be my Wife…’”

“Take thee, Vastra,” Jenny says, hardly breathing, “to be my Wife.”

“…‘To have and to hold from this day forward…’”

“To have and to hold from this day forward.”

“…‘For better, for worse, for richer, for poorer…’”

“For better, for worse, for richer, for poorer.”

“…’In sickness and in health, to love and to cherish…’”

“In sickness and in healthy, to love and to cherish.”

“…’Till death do us part…’”

“And thensome,” Jenny says.

Vastra beams.

“That’ll do,” the Doctor says. “Strax?”

“Here,” he says gruffly, holding his hand out to Jenny.

“Thanks, Strax.”

“And Jenny,” the Doctor says as Jenny catches Strax’s offering, “I think at this point, anything you would care to add, by all means do.”

She takes Vastra’s left hand in both of hers. Gently, striving to not pull on any delicate scales, she places a ring carved from lapis lazuli on Vastra’s finger. “I want you to know,” she says, watching the ring, “that to my people, this is a covenant. It’s a sacred promise, no matter what you believe. And I will keep it.” She holds up the second ring, which Vastra takes and tenderly places on Jenny’s own left hand. They hold on to each other, frightened together in the very best way.

“Good!” the Doctor says. “Now! Vastra! Your turn. According to the customs of the tribe of the way of the long arm—a noble and ancient race even by the standards of the Silurian species—of the planet Earth in the days before the great sleep, during the reign of the Triad, do proceed.”

Vastra nods, focusing all of her attention of Jenny.

“And maybe a brief explanation for the rest of us,” the Doctor says, earning him one of Vastra’s devious glares.

“Jenny,” she says, stepping closer, and Jenny must strive all the more not to leap into her arms. “Poetry and beautiful words were, perhaps, not the forte of my people. But I do make you a promise, of another sort. I wear the color—the mark—of my tribe to…” She struggles for the right word in English. “…bridge between us. A sign of trust. And this…” With some hesitancy, Vastra removes her hands from Jenny’s.

 _She almost looks afraid,_ Jenny thinks. Then, Vastra holds her hands out, just inches from either side of Jenny’s face. Slowly, she moves them, tracing an outline around Jenny’s form. Although she does not touch Jenny, she feels hot blood rising to her skin as Vastra moves round her. The look in those vulnerable, blue eyes tell Jenny just how intimate an act this is for Vastra. Finally, the woman in the red dress returns, standing, and places her hands in Jenny’s.

            “…This was a sacred promise as well. A promise to love, to protect, and to follow. To stay with you all our days.” She takes a deep breath. Calmly, Vastra glances up at the Doctor.

            In all honestly, the Time Lord looks quite beside himself as his two friends beam up at him. He knew Vastra had a traditional ritual of her people in mind, something other than a dinosaur hunt, but that was… “Well,” he says, coughs, pulls at his neck tie, “That was… er… um, is she supposed to, too?” he asks, his voice cracking.

            “Of course she should,” Jenny sasses him. As best she can, Jenny repeats what Vastra has done, tracing her silhouette with her hands. Somehow, the movements feel important. Whether they are as sacred to Vastra as the rings are to Jenny, she does not know, but she treats the ritual with as much respect. By the time she returns to standing, holding Vastra’s hands, her chosen mate looks absolutely touched.

            “Great! Good!” the Doctor squeaks. “Moving on! Who bears witness to this event? (Strax, say your name).”

            “Uh… Commander Strax.”

            “Commander Strax does bear witness to this solemn occasion,” the Doctor blurts out, takes a deep breath, composes himself. “And with the power vested in me as the captain of this Tardis, queen ship of all of Space and Time, known and unknown, through this universe and all the others,” he announces, his bravado rising. “I do declare these two women—my friends—wed.”


	65. Choices

**085\. Choices**

 

Early 1888

 

            Run. Breathe. Do not lose sight of the quarry. Run. Breathe. Do not lose sight.  
            Jenny arcing muscles pull her forward with such speed, moisture is leaking from the corners of her eyes. She can run so much faster in pants, a shirt and vest than even her lightest dress. And run she must. The suspect has led them to a steeply downhill road. With gravity on her side, the suspect could get away from the detective and her assistant despite their superior speed and strength.

            Jenny stays step behind Vastra, off to her mistress’s left, three yards apart at most. Up ahead, the suspect has reached the bottom of the hill and turns down a side street. All of a sudden, Vastra is falling. Jenny’s heart catches in a millisecond: Is she injured? Concern for her employer fills her chest instantly. But not even a full second has passed—Vastra has not even hit the ground—when the reptilian woman yells at Jenny, “Keep going!”

            For the briefest moment, Jenny is faced with a choice: Disobey, stop, let the culprit get away, help her mistress? Or keep running?

            _Run!_

Jenny bends the direction of her stride, arcing wide so she can turn down the side street without losing the momentum of the downhill. Vastra blinks once, but her friend has already vanished around the corner of the warehouse.

It’s a long, flat bit of road, and it’s poorly lit. Still Jenny runs. Air blasts around her, pulling at her uniform and katana and hair bun. Faster, faster, faster! _God!_ she thinks. Her mind is perfectly focused and in tune with her body. _This is God!_

Her toe catches something heavy. Jenny tumbles, rolls, bleeds. No matter; she rolls an extra turn, pushes up, and unsheathes her sword in one fluid motion to face her prey.

“Tricky, then?” Jenny asks the moving dark. The moonlight is dim here, but she can make out the shape of the person who tripped her.

“Who the Hell are you people?”

“Ms. Virginia Terris, you are under arrest for the robbery of Mr. George Collins and the murder of his child Susanna Collins.”

“Bullocks! By whose authority? Yours?”

Jenny’s eyes locks on the glint. Ms. Terris pulls out something made of metal, a knife perhaps. “Quite!” She lunges, eyes darting after the movement in the dark. To her surprise, Ms. Terris moves away, making to jab her knife ( _definitely a knife!_ ) through Jenny’s abdomen. She twists away, the steel of her katana meeting the knife instead. That is the undoing of the suspect; Jenny is far stronger than her challenger, as is her katana over the knife.

“No! You whore in trousers!”

The detective’s assistant presses her forearm against the woman’s shoulder blades, ramming her into the warehouse’s wall. Pinned, Ms. Terris shouts her obscenities at Jenny, determined to make her situation as miserable as possible. Jenny is stronger, though. Disarmed, this thief and murderer cannot pose too much of a threat.

“Jenny.”

“Ma’am, I’m here!”

“I can tell,” Vastra says, stepping into view. The scales on her uncovered face reflect what little light dances through the street.

“—you rotten filthy tramps, I’ll fu—“

            “Oi, hush you!”

            “I can dispose of it.”

            “No, ma’am, that won’t be necessary. I’m sure the police would be quite happy to receive her.”

            Vastra doesn’t move for a moment, watching Jenny hold the larger ape in place, a feat the little one could not have handled when they first met. “Well, my dear. It would appear you have made your very first catch. Well done. I believe you might be a warrior yet.”

            “Thank you, ma’am.” Jenny beamed. A little part of her was glad it was so dark, thinking hopefully her mistress could not see how very proud she was to receive her praise.


	66. Life

**086\. Life**

 

1891

 

            She knows something is up, that Vastra wants to discuss something, but she just watches her, does her work around the house, and chases Strax out of trouble. A typical day. Other than having to ignore a bundle of nerves in her stomach.

            “Jenny, may I ask you a question?”

            “Of course, ma’am,” Jenny says, putting aside the book she had been reading aloud in the drawing room.

            “Strax, would you excuse us?”

            “But Madame, the story—”

            “We will continue tomorrow.”

            Strax hops out of his chair and glares at the floor as he stomps out of the room. Jenny smiles, impressed by his improved behavior over the last year. She returns her attention to her mistress, who glares at the fireplace and hisses to herself.

            “What is it, ma’am?” Jenny asks quietly, swallowing her own nerves.

            “Jenny, how long do ap—” Vastra bites her tongue, darts her eyes to Jenny, tries again. “How long do humans typically live?”

            “That’s a bit odd to ask, ma’am,” Jenny laughs. But of course Vastra wouldn’t know. “Why do you ask?”

            “While we were in the cemetery the other night,” Vastra says. “Waiting for the—”

            “Oh yes.”

            “I preoccupied some of the time reading the grave markers. So I wondered what the average length of a human life would be.”

            “I’m no doctor, ma’am,” Jenny says, smiling.

            “But you would have some idea.”

            “Well yes, but…” But excuses clearly won’t satisfy tonight. Jenny sighs. “A lot of kids die before they reach five years old, of course. But if you make it past that…” Jenny looks off, shakes her head as she thinks. “Most people live to perhaps forty-five.”

            Vastra grasps the arm of her chair with one hand and her chest with another, as though wounded. Seeing such a strong reaction, Jenny reaches her arm out to comfort, although of course it cannot traverse the distance between them. “But some folks live much longer! Look at the Queen! Born in 1819 and still kicking!” Her nervous smile falters under Madame Vastra’s gaze. “Some people have even lived to a hundred. She might, she has good doctors, which helps. And us! We have the best!” It isn’t helping.

            “So it would be safe to assume that the healthiest humans live between about fifty and seventy-five years of age,” Vastra breathes. All at once she seems frightened and frightening. Jenny certainly feels afraid of this sudden turn.

            “Aye, ma’am.”

            Vastra whimpers a bit.

            At that, Jenny launches from her own chair, kneels down next to Vastra, takes her hand. “Oi now, what’s wrong? You can tell me.”

            “Jenny,” Vastra whispers, unable to look at her. “You live such short lives!”

            “Not so very short, ma’am.”

            “No Jenny, you do. Certainly I had not expected you to live as long as Time Lords but I had hoped…”

            It dawns on Jenny to ask Vastra, “How long do Silurians live, ma’am?”

            They share a long, intense look. For a moment, they seem frozen, stuck in the impending answer. “Two hundred fifty to three hundred would be the average. Some have lived as many as four hundred years or more.”

            Jenny blinks rapidly, reeling at the thought of living so long. When she looks back up at her mistress, Vastra looks absolutely anguished. “Oi,” she says, pressing even closer, “Don’t look like that.”

            “My dear Jenny, we are cursed.”

            “None of that!” Jenny barks. “I won’t have it, darling.”

            “The truth?”

            “Pessimism. No use in living like we’re already dead. Stop it.”

            Vastra looks away, whimpering still.

            “Oi,” Jenny says, sitting on Vastra’s lap, forcing her to pay attention. “Now come on. How old am I?”

            “I believe… twenty and three?”

            “Close enough. And how old are you?”

            “…Roughly one hundred fifty.”

            “All right,” Jenny says. “One fifty. Wow, really?”  

            “Jenny,” Vastra snarls, giving her a shove.

            “What?” Jenny asks with a smile. “You’re quite old! Oi! You’re going to make me fall!” she laughs, shoving Vastra back. They laugh a little. “See, that’s not so bad. I thought you’d be much younger.”

            “Are you trying to complement me?”

            “Oh come on, you’re so fetching, you couldn’t be more than eighty.”

            “Hush child.”

            “Oh shut it yourself.”

            “Ape.”

            “Lizard.” Jenny sighs, kisses Vastra’s brow. “We’ll probably both die young anyway with the kind of work we do.”

            “ _That_ is pessimistic.”

            “See? You’re learning.” As Vastra runs fingers through her hair, Jenny smiles.

            “Surely there is something we could do?”

            “Everyone dies, ma’am,” Jenny whispers. “‘Tis the great equalizer.”

            “Yes but… just to put it off a while.”

            “Everyone wants that, ma’am.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As bitter as it seems, I don't really buy into some of the theories out there that Vastra and/or the Doctor would be able to find a way to prolong Jenny's life (especially the Doctor, because then why wouldn't he have done so for his many companions?).


	67. School

**087\. School**

 

A very long time ago

 

            “It is an affront to nature!” the lecturer said, reading from his notes in the crowded assembly hall. “The cohabitation and unchecked breeding between Land-Caste Silurians and ‘Sea Devils’ cannot be accepted by civilized society. For centuries, Silurians of all castes and tribes have coexisted peacefully. We have developed strong breeding programs to ensure our offspring have the best start possible in this world. Yes, we are all of inherent worth as reptiles. But that does not justify perversion of the species.”

            “But sir,” a student interrupted. “What about Sanctity Of Mates? We can’t just disregard a thousand years of respect and honor just because a small group has found Sanctities across tribe boundaries, can we? As an advanced society, we’ve recognized for centuries that hatchlings will come about from Sanctities outside of our breeding programs on occasion. So what makes these hatchlings perverted?”

            The lecturer hissed. The two eyed each other intensely, communicating as only Silurians could. The lecture continued.

            Some of the students in the auditorium were clearly irritated. A young female from a very old tribe—endangered, you might say—could see this, but she kept taking notes all the same. The university crowd was very diverse; the professor was bound to offend someone sooner or later with his opinionated lessons. It didn’t matter much to her; she just wanted to pass the class and move onto more interested courses.

            When the lecture was over, Vastra packed up her notes and left. She walked upstairs, past the mathematics department, past the agricultural offices, to an office on the fourth floor. A sister tribe to her own had a small cultural center there. That tribe was, of course, far more influential than her own and perhaps the most powerful of any of the tribes or clans, despite their relatively small population. Surrounded as she was by so many vastly different Silurians, even the slight respite of their company was most welcome.

            “Vastra, greetings,” the center’s director said as she entered. They exchanged sniffs and pleasantries. “Have you seen this report?”

            “ ‘Scientist breeds apes, creates intelligence,’ ” Vastra read aloud. “What?”

            “Apparently a scientist got a hold of some livestock and has been breeding them. He _claims_ he was breeding them for better taste and faster reproduction cycles. But when authorities checked on his project, they found that the apes were actually becoming more intelligent.”

            “That is troubling, indeed.”

            “Who knows?” the director said. “Perhaps you warriors will be defending us from intelligent apes in the near future.”

            “That seems highly unlikely and illogical.”

            “That livestock could become a threat?”

            “That the Warriors will ever be put to use.”

            He laughed, a little rudely, at that. She sat in a chair. It was true, though. Being placed into the Warrior class was seemingly an honor, until you actually paid attention to the world around you. Silurians were incredibly diverse in physiology and thought. Yet, after such a long time together on this planet, they had become a peaceful species. Yes, their civilizations varied, but they got along. Mostly by avoiding each other, but it was still peaceful. That peace, of course, meant that life in the Warrior class would not only be grueling but extremely boring.

            Vastra was a little lucky, though. Her intellect was unmatched by anyone in her tribe, so she was sent to visit her sister tribe for further education. Here sister tribe found she was suited well to training at university. As such, she could rise in the ranks as a Warrior relatively quickly. She hoped that she might become a military police, an officer trained to prevent warriors from abusing their powers. Tonight, the cultural center would be hosting a military commander by the name of Restac to come speak to students, and Vastra hoped the meeting with the chief military officer of her auspicious sister tribe would open doors for her and her own tribe in the future.

 

            _Hatching. Being cleaned by nurses, checked by scientists. Already her mind was abuzz. Hatchlings were much like adult Silurians. Smaller, less experienced, and in need of education, yes, but in many ways mature…_

_Swimming. The little ones of her tribe, back home, were running towards the water, throwing off their embroidered shirts. She ran along, smiling at her younger sisters and brother, happy to guard them today. The hatchlings swam laps around the designated swim zone. Her little brother—a brother is such a rare treat!—called himself a Sea Devil. Really, she shouldn’t allow that. She was so young… much taller now, of course, but so young…_

_Screaming. A little sister had been there one second and gone the next. Vastra screamed at them to get out of the water now, run…_

 

            With a jump, Vastra awoke. It was still very early in the morning, much earlier than perhaps any other student at this university began their day. Vastra clambered into wakefulness. Once dressed in her tribe’s traditional Warrior’s uniform, she left the building, dropping by the ice room for a bit of flesh before going. From there, Vastra readied her rapid transit disk for the trip.

            Every morning before classes, she made the trip to the land of her ancestors. Only here, among her sisters and her master, could she learn the sacred art of the sword. Her classes at the university allotted time to study all the various “advanced” weaponry of other, more dominant tribes, from blasters and guns to telepathy, but none of that nonsense compared to the dying art of advanced swordsmanship of her people. They called it ‘the way of the long arm’ for the way the sword was meant to become an extension of one’s very self.

 

            Vastra had been ordered back to her tribe. She felt happy to be among her people again but also frustrated. Furious. After fifteen years at the university, so close to earning her degree, and for what? A cataclysmic event in the form of an oncoming planetoid?

            “It isn’t fair!” she exclaimed one night in the company of all of her sisters and brothers. Fewer than one hundred fifty Silurians filled their hall. _A ruin of its former self,_ Vastra thought bitterly, hissing and pacing. If an immense rock were not going to destroy her and her kin, then certainly her tribe’s low rate of breeding selection would result in their extinction. _We are already extinct_.

She even blamed herself. Vastra could have donated to the breeding program many years ago, but she had not. At the time, she had said it would interrupt her studies. While she had not lied exactly, she had hoped that she would perhaps enter the Sanctity of Mates. Yet she never cared to approach other potentials much.

            Those around her that night knew not how to calm Vastra. Few of their tribe had ever made it to the university. They sniffed at each other. How do you comfort someone who has lost something you can never understand?

            Of course, it was her master in swordsmanship who took the lead. She led Vastra out of the hall. Looking up at the twilit sky, they could see the planetoid with their own eyes now. Scientists had absolutely no doubt that it would make impact. Leaders and advisors to the Triad deliberated how to preserve their species.

            Vastra sniffed and hissed and spat. But gradually, her master’s calm example of quietly gazing up at their doom calmed Vastra.

            Her master said, “What is actually troubling you?”

            Vastra hissed again, a little less aggressively than before. “I am troubled, Master, by the fact that there is a giant rock about to destroy the Earth, and there is very little anyone can do about it! Our species will be obliterated!”

            “No. That is not what is troubling you.”

            “No?” Vastra asked incredulously. “Of course it is! What else is there?”

            “The fear,” her master said quietly. “Describe the fear, Vastra.”

            At that, Vastra had to look away from her mentor. She meditated on the request for a long time while the night settled in around them.

            “I am afraid of a pointless life,” Vastra finally said. “I never will find out my potential.”

            “That is only true if we all perish, Vastra. As troubling as our situation is, most would agree that our scientists have the abilities to come to a solution.”

            “Still… a pointless life. A lonely life.” _No species, no tribe, no Mate_.

            Her master turned to consider Vastra. “You are afraid of your loneliness.”

            Vastra glared up at the imposing rock hanging in the sky. “Yes.”

            “An odd thing to fear.”

            “Master, have you ever met a Silurian who had developed an… attachment to another?” Vastra asked.

            “Hmm… Such things are not very common any more.”

            “No. I recently met a pair of Silurians. It was just like everyone always said it would be like. To see a pair.”

            “To see a Sanctity of Mates is to behold a miracle.”

            “Yes. They do not live pointless lives. And at university, there were so many who lived their lives dedicated to _some_ purpose. I have nothing like that,” Vastra murmured.

            Her master paused. “Not yet.”


	68. Birthday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy mature things

**090\. Birthday**

 

Late 1888

 

            “Now you march yourself over the Mrs. Shirley and you apologize!”

            “Unhand me, alien scum!”

            “I’ll do no such thing,” Jenny says, bending down so she’s eye to eye with Strax, his ear still securely held between her merciless fingers.

            “Insolence! You will perish for the glory of the Sontaran Empire!”

            “Good. I’ll be sure to do that once you’ve apologized.”

            The pair glare at each other, refusing the blink. Jenny stares at the clone warrior… and gives his ear a nasty twist. Strax blinks first.

            “Owowow! Let me go! I’ll do it!”

            “There you go,” Jenny says, releasing her captive. She points to her left, at the front door of lady in question. Grumbling, Strax follows her order. Halfway to the door, he pauses, shifting foot to foot. He looks back.

            “I really -”

            “I don’t care, go!”

            Strax continues on unhappily. The door opens as he approaches, and he sticks out his tongue in apprehensive disgust at the sight of the fleshy… thing standing there. He looks back at Jenny one last time, but one glimpse of her glare is enough to convince him. “Mrs. Shirley,” he says, saluting. “It has come to my attention that I have offended your house and kin. I… I…”

            “I am _Mister_ Shirley.”

            “Close enough. I apologize,” he mutters bitterly. “I hope we meet in glorious battle and you may die for the glory of the Sontaran Empire,” he says, without much enjoyment.

 

            Jenny is spent. She closes the door behind Strax and she, staying on her feet by sheer will. Dutifully, she follows Strax up the stairs to his room—what had been her room not so long ago—and forbids him from coming out until…

            “There you are!” Vastra calls from downstairs. “What a mess!” she exclaims. “I’ll never have his mess cleaned up. I have never seen so much useless, dribbling paperwork in my entire life.”

            It has been a long first week with Strax.

            “He’s made apologies,” Jenny reports, slowly shuffling towards the stairs. “I counted.”

            “Goodness, Jenny, you look absolutely spent.”

            Jenny has no energy to respond verbally, so she just raises her eyebrows at Vastra. _Obviously_.

            “I think I better...”

            “No, you’d better not,” Vastra interrupts, climbing the stairs toward her. “I think instead you should come with me.” She motions for Jenny to enter the main washroom. Within, Jenny finds a steaming bath, a tray bearing a slice of cake and two cups of tea, and flower petals everywhere. Just in case she might be seeing things, she blinks and rubs her eyes with her fingertips.

            “What-? Why have-? Where did you even find roses this time of year?”

            “I believe,” Vastra says, “that today is a day rather important to your life. Despite all of the distractions abounding this week, I think it would be appropriate that you have a little celebration at least. Hm?”

            “How do you even know that, ma’am? I hardly ever mention it,” Jenny asks, facing Vastra as the taller of the two removes Jenny’s white cap. But her mistress will not answer. Her eyes tease Jenny while she unties her apron and starts unbuttoning her dress. The room is so warm, too… Jenny decides she really doesn’t care how Vastra knows about today; this would be magnificent any day of the year.

            As Jenny gingerly steps into the hot water, Vastra lays the maid’s uniform aside and takes a seat on the stool, placing the tray on her lap. She cuts the slice of cake with precision and holds the fork out in front of Jenny’s mouth.

            “You don’t have to do this,” Jenny laughs, feeling a little defensive about being doted on.

            “No Jenny, you have been running about all day and all week, you need to eat.”

            To that, Jenny says nothing, but she does treat Vastra to a mischievous glare that promises payback. Sweet, delicious payback with chocolate icing. With the cake consumed, tea comes next. As they sip the elixir of life, they talk.

            “How are you, my dear?”

            “Like you said, ma’am,” Jenny sighs, resting her bare neck on the rim of the tub, “It’s been a very long week. Several, really, including Demons Run.”

            Vastra nods. “Do you feel you are returning to work—our work—well?”

            Jenny smiles. “Yes, ma’am. It’s been a quick change of pace seeing as I wasn’t too involved in the case of Jack the Ripper… But I was looking forward to returning.” They pause a moment, remembering the Ripper case and how they had fought over it. Following Demons Run and now the week of Strax, it seems very long ago. Vastra knows better, though. Right there along Jenny’s jawline is a scar from the madman.

            “Did you enjoy your first excursion with the Doctor and his friends?” Vastra asks. The mischievous look returns to Jenny’s eyes. “Other than having to hear you flirt with everyone, yes; I found the trip enlightening.”

            “I did nothing of the sort.”

            “Oh yes you did!” Jenny says, splashing a little water in the direction of her mistress. “You were trying to goad me on.”

            Vastra raises her brow at Jenny from behind her cup. “I am, quite simply, insensitive.”

            “Yes, ma’am! Indeed you are!”

            They laugh a little together.

Vastra moves. She shifts the tray and her cup onto the stool and kneels on the floor near the head of the bathtub. Gently, she rubs Jenny just behind her ear, which induces her companion to make a small moan. After a moment, she removes her hand and starts to delicately remove the pins holding Jenny’s hair up. As the black hair falls down, a long sheet over the edge of the tub, Jenny watches her mistress’s body.

            With a reach, Jenny returns her cup to the tray and takes hold of the back of Vastra’s neck. She pulls Vastra into a kiss, and with their lips still touching, asks, “Join me?” Vastra hums, agreeing with another kiss. “Turn around,” Jenny whispers. Obliging, Vastra turns, and Jenny reaches her arms over the tub to undo the back of the dress. Once that’s finished, Vastra steps out of everything else on her own and turns to face her companion.

            Jenny’s eyes feast. It is hard for her to believe how little time has passed since they became lovers; it is harder for her to believe how many years they have known each other. A part of her wonders, why in God’s good name did they waste so much time?

            Of course, Vastra’s eyes have been feasting during this entire bath.

            Jenny sits up, allowing Vastra to step in behind her back. The water is still warm. Vastra sits, pulling Jenny toward her until she is essentially seated on Vastra’s lap. Jenny leans her head back, resting between Vastra’s shoulder and her fragrant neck. In turn, Vastra kisses her dear companion’s forehead and gently strokes her hair. Meanwhile, Jenny runs her hands up and down Vastra’s thighs, hoping the scales around her knees are not too cold, exposed to the air as they are.

            “Happy Birthday, my dear.”

            For the first time in a very long time, Jenny is perfectly happy to hear those two words. “Thank you, kindly.”

            Suddenly, a bang from the other side of the second floor interrupts the mood.

            “I swear to God above, I will kill him,” Jenny groans, eyes shut to the world.

            “Very well, I shall take care of the matter,” Vastra says.

            “Vastra, if you leave this tub, I will kill you, too,” Jenny threatens.

            “Is that so? … Well, I would prefer to survive several years more. I suppose I must remain,” Vastra says, caring not in the least what Strax is up to now.


	69. Christmas

**091\. Christmas**

 

1884

 

            “What are these?” Madame Vastra asks, lifting a sprig of holly up for Jenny to see as she glares at the fire.

            Jenny looks up from sweeping. From her angle, she can see her mistress has branches from other evergreen species in her lap, perhaps gathered during her most recent late-night “stroll.”

            “It’s a sprig of holly, ma’am,” Jenny says. “And what you’ve got in your lap there, those are from evergreen trees.”

            “Evergreen?” Vastra asks, unmoving, all but glued into her chair.

            “Aye, ma’am,” Jenny responds, going back to her sweeping. “Evergreen trees never lose their leaves, never turn brown unless they’re sick. They’re a nice reminder of life everlasting, I suppose. Anyway, we use them to decorate for Christmas.”

            Vastra holds the holly in front of her face, thinking. Trees have certainly changed since the time of her sisters. “What,” she asks, “is Christmas?”

            Jenny stops. “Uhhhh…”

            “Uhhhh?” Vastra repeats back, irritated.

            Sheepishly, Jenny tries again. “It’s a holiday, ma’am. Celebrating the birth of our Lord and Savior.”

            “Your king?”

            “Um, no, ma’am. We have a queen.”

            “So Christmas celebrates your queen.”

            “No no, I mean that Britain is led by a queen, Queen Victoria. Christmas is about a man. Well, sort of a man.”

            “Sort of?” Vastra asks. Jenny ignores her impatience.

            “Let me start over, ma’am.” Jenny leans her broom against the wall and pulls a footstool over. She stays off to the side, out of the creature’s way, but she faces Vastra to speak. Her mistress’s behavior does not allow Jenny to be rude in return.

            “Do.”

            “Long ago, exactly one thousand, eight hundred, eighty-four years ago, a young, poor woman living in the Holy Land of Israel, under the dominion of the Roman Empire, became pregnant without ever having… uh…” Jenny blushes. A lot of good she is at this. How did she ever learn this story in church? “Having relations with a man.”

            Vastra thinks. “Having relations.”

            _Hell with this_. “Sex.”

            “Is spontaneous pregnancy common among your species?” Vastra asks.

            “It’s impossible,” Jenny replies.

            “You are contradicting yourself.”

            “No, ma’am, see, it was God’s child. He sent the woman, Mary, a messenger, an angel, to ask her to bring his Son into the world as a human.”

            “God? This god surely has a name.”

            “Well… uh, not that I know of.”

            “Then how do you distinguish it from others?”

            “There are no others, ma’am.”

            “What?” Vastra shouts, about to turn her head. But no, she doesn’t want to look at the ape. She glares at the fire.

            “We believe in only one God, ma’am, who creates all things.” Hearing no new questions, Jenny continues. “And he sent his Son, Jesus, to be a messiah to us in our time of trial.”

            “The woman gave birth to a god?” Vastra asks. Certainly there were tribes among the Silurians who held up pantheons of demi-gods.

            “Not exactly.” Jenny feels she has lost control of the subject again. Indeed, she feels woefully inadequate to this task. “See he was a human. But he was God, too.”

            “You just said there was only one god.”

            “Nevermind that,” Jenny says, getting irritated herself.

            Vastra hisses quietly.

            “Anyway, there was a census by the Romans I think, so Mary and her fiancé had to go to Bethlehem, where he was from.”

            “Mary is the female?”

            “Yes.”

            “So the male ‘he’ is the fiancé.”

            “Yes.” Was she paying attention at all? “But when they got to his hometown, there was no room for them to stay at the inn.”

            “What is in?”

            “No, inn. Hotel. A place you can stay for a little while as a traveler.”

            Vastra hisses again.

            “So they had to sleep in a barn with animals.”

            “Apes are animals,” Vastra says. Jenny glares at her.

            “Well, _ma’am_ , we don’t think of it that way. We certainly don’t sleep with animals in barns and straw on a regular basis.” _Like you’re one to talk_ , Jenny thinks, remembering snakes from her church’s stories.

            _Could have fooled me,_ Vastra thinks, considering the squalor conditions in parts of London, parts that (little did she know) Jenny was far more familiar with then herself.

            “Anyway, ma’am, the baby was born there. Poor, in a barn.”

            “Your messiah.”

            “Yes.”

            “That is a peculiar story.”

            “How so, ma’am?”

            “Who has ever heard of a hero coming from poverty and squalor?”

            Jenny bites her tongue before she can make a fiery retort. _You want to keep this job, you have to play nice_ , she reminds herself.

            “You apes really think a god sent a reproductive cell into the body of a ‘human’ female, who then gave birth to it in filth, and the child was simultaneously the same god that sent it? Pitiful nonsense.”

            Jenny thinks nasty things in her mistress’s directions. She has been insulted before of course, but never has she experienced being insulted for what a great number of Londoners and Englishmen believe. And this is perhaps the first time she has been in a position in which returning insults could get her into serious, bodily danger. Granted, many people nowadays are proclaiming themselves to be deists, atheists.

            “There are…” _many things I’m sure I could insult about your snake-peoples’ religions._ “…many religions among humans, ma’am.”

            “Many?”

            “Yes. But I only know this one.”

            “Fine. What does this story have to do with evergreen?” Vastra says, returning her attention to the plant life in her lap.

            “It’s just for decoration, ma’am. We do many things for Christmas.”

            “Why is it called that?” Vastra asks. “What things? Why decorate?”

            “It’s a holy day,” Jenny repeats herself. “We eat a special dinner, give each other gifts, send cards. It’s time spent with your family.”

            “Family…”

            “Yes, ma’am.”

            “An infant ape is hatched into poverty, and you lot celebrate,” Vastra hisses under her breath. The apes make no sense. They treat each other unkindly, yet the Doctor insists on their goodness. They celebrate the birth of a poor demi-god ( _Who has ever thought of such a ridiculous notion?_ ) and let the poor apes around them live and die from hunger and disease.

            “We do.”

            Vastra’s eyes widen. The ape heard her comment. She pauses. “But how does the hatchling’s birth lead to dinners and gifts and trees?”

            Jenny stands, snatching her broom again. “I don’t know, ma’am. I’m not a priest, and I’m not the Bible.”

            “Bible?” Vastra says, sneering at the strange word.

            “Yes, ma’am,” Jenny sighs. “It’s the holy book of the Christian people. Christians are the people who believe this ‘nonsense,’ ma’am,” Jenny says, seeing Vastra’s face. “It tells the story.”

            Vastra sits in silence for a while, twirling the holly in her hand. Jenny sweeps, irritated with Vastra for throwing insults and with herself for being inadequate to the task of explaining this aspect of her life. Then Vastra sits up taller.

            “One thousand, eight hundred, eighty-four years ago.”

            “Ma’am?”

            “This demi-god hatchling. 1884. You measure years from its birth.”

            “Yes, ma’am.”

            “Hm.” Vastra thinks. As nonsensical as the story is, the apes seem to place a great deal of importance on it. _A young, poor hero… what an odd thing._

 

 

1889

 

            The stars twinkle down at Jenny, and she smiles. Yet somberness hangs over her heart.

            “Jenny, my dear,” Vastra says, opening the door. A small dinner party makes an inordinate amount of noise behind her. Jenny can hear the Doctor, trying to get everyone to sing, and she chuckles. “What are you doing outside?”

            “Just wanted a bit of air, ma’am,” she replies, pulling her shawl around her.

            Madame Vastra steps up beside her and looks up. Even with the door closed, they can hear the Doctor and Strax, arguing over whose rendition of “We Wish You A Merry Christmas” to perform. Then the sound of rushing paper and crashing plates; “That would be the two of them running into the table, I believe,” Vastra says. “I must say, I did not actually believe him when he said he had never consumed alcohol prior to tonight.”

            _The Christmas cards will be everywhere_ , Jenny thinks with a grin. Grateful families had send their regards to the anonymous Great Detective, and Scotland Yard had forwarded every single one of them. While their Christmas dinner serves only the trusted few, Jenny cannot help but feel as though she is in the company of a great many tonight.

            “Do you remember our first Christmas together?”

            “If I recall correctly, I was rather abrasive.”

            Jenny smiles. “Yes, ma’am. You were.”

            With a charming laugh, Vastra steps closer to Jenny. Safe from prying eyes behind the house, she wraps her hand in Jenny’s and gives it a kiss. “I do understand its import a little better than before, although I still do not comprehend how it prescribes gift-giving and caroling.”

            “Don’t tell that lot,” Jenny says, nodding behind her. They’ve moved on to “Good King Wenceslas.” She sighs.

            “What is the matter?”

            “Nothing,” Jenny says. “I was just thinking… of my niece, ma’am. And younger siblings. They always loved Christmas. Wonder if they’re living still…”

            Vastra endures the following silence, unsure of how to broach the subject. Thankfully, Jenny saves her, gives her permission to make no comment at all. With a wink and a smile she tugs at Vastra’s hand, leading her back to the door. At the last step before reaching for the latch, she turns to face her mistress.

            “Merry Christmas, ma’am.”

            “Jenny,” Vastra says lovingly.

            “Vastra,” Jenny corrects herself. She blushes, thinking of in what context she normally restricts herself to using her lover’s name.

            “Merry Christmas, my dear,” Vastra says. She bends down and kisses Jenny, a little forcefully in the cold, her chilled hand reaching for the warmth beside her.


	70. New Year

**094\. New Year**

 

Winter 1888/1889

 

            “Your post, ma’am,” Jenny says, bringing Madame Vastra her letters.

            “Thank you, Jenny.”

            “Do I have any mail?” Strax asks excitedly.

            Jenny and Vastra share a look. “No, Strax,” Jenny says, “but I heard that a lot of letters get lost this time of year.”

            Strax sits back, sufficiently pleased with her answer. Of course, he does not know anyone in town—let alone on this planet—that would have reason to send him a letter. He simply finds the concept of mail arriving most every day very exciting, so he is always sure to check if something has come for him.

            “Jenny, what is this?” Vastra asks. Jenny comes to look over Vastra’s shoulder. She holds a colorful card.

            “It looks like an invitation to a dinner party on New Year’s Day. From Inspector Abberline’s employer—it must be a party for Scotland Yard.”

            Vastra looks at the card with suspicion. Considering the circumstances, Jenny can see why her mistress might not make the connection between the card’s decoration and a New Years party.

            “Will you go, ma’am? It was very kind of them to invite you.”

            “Would it be rude if I did not?”

            “Well… probably. For at least a little while, ma’am.”

            “Will you be coming?”

            “My name is not on the card.”

            “Is that a yes or a no, Jenny?”

            “No, ma’am.”

            “What about me? Can I come along?”

            “No Strax. You are not ready for such excitements.”

            Jenny suspects that Vastra will think Strax is not ready for Victorian London for the rest of their lives. Although to be fair, Jenny would rather he not be allowed out for a good while yet herself.

 

            Vastra begrudgingly goes to the party. As she suspected, her time spent in the company of drunk, over-fed apes—each one more bent on impressing the Great Detective with their powers of deduction than the last—is anything but inspiring. Within less than an hour, Vastra comes up with an elaborate explanation to remove herself from the crowd and departs. However, she drops by the buffet to stow away large quantities of the goose to eat on the way home.

            A new year. She watches the sky as she walks home, chewing on goose. It is quite undignified to eat and walk at the same time, but as most Londoners are either hosting or attending dinner parties tonight, Vastra does not worry too much about being caught eating. Stars twinkle down at her. They are different from what they were when she was young.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it! Every story I wrote this summer about Vastra and Jenny. I know this particular chapter is anti-climactic, but that's all I got. Hope you enjoyed them!

**Author's Note:**

> The first one's not the great, I admit.
> 
> And yes, the little girl is supposed to be an ancestor of my favorite companion, Martha Jones. Because sometimes kids get their mother's last name, so there.


End file.
